


Sexual Awakening

by DPS



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Play, Bisexuality, Blushing, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Captain John Watson, Coming Untouched, Consent Play, Edging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Figging, Fluff and Smut, Homosexuality, Jealous Sherlock, John "Three Continents" Watson, Light BDSM, Lingerie, Literature, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pictures, Praise Kink, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Slight humiliation kink, Spanking, Temperature Play, Top John, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 52,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPS/pseuds/DPS
Summary: Sherlock decides it is time that he lost his pesky virginity, and decides to start experimenting. John (I-Am-Not-Gay) Watson may have just met his match: a virginal, curious, and lustful Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy, please no one underage, it's not appropriate. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated :) My tumblr will have updates on the story:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://alwaysgryffindorish.tumblr.com/post/158159228945/sexual-awakening-dps-sherlock-tv-archive-of>  
> 

Despite what everyone-including Mycroft-believed, Sherlock Holmes was not a frightened virgin.

True, he was not entirely sure of how sex worked outside of the anatomical and biological aspects, and it was also true that he was perhaps a little bit wary of sexual acts and what they entailed, but that was of no consequence.

Sherlock had decided that it was time to lose his virginity. After all, he was twenty-five years old, and despite his many dalliances with drugs and corpses, he was sexually as pure as they come.

He had planned to lose his virginity by going out to a random bar in London, finding the least annoying man present, and committing to a brief anonymous sexual encounter. But the longer he contemplated the act, the more anxious he felt, feeling nervousness clawing up his throat and clenching down against his windpipe in a vice grip.

Allowing a person, a stranger, to touch him- to _know_ him- in such a way was unacceptable. Unthinkable. 

Sherlock groaned in frustration as he sat up from his place lounging on the couch in 221B, standing up with a swooping motion and bounding towards his bedroom with an annoyed sigh, his mind racing as he searched or a solution to his predicament.

John had started taking his laptop to work with him, as Sherlock continued to break his passwords (the last being LeaVeOFFWaNkEr, which had briefly amused Sherlock before he logged in and began updating the many mistakes on John’s blog), and now Sherlock was forced to use his own laptop and walk to his room. Tedious.

With a grumble, Sherlock grabbed his laptop and sat on his bed, opening a new document and beginning to write:

_Experiment: Losing my virginity_

_Test Subject(s): Unknown_

_Variable(s): Anxiousness_

_Conclusion: Unconfirmed_

As Sherlock stared at the blinking document in front of him, a niggling idea began to bloom in the back of his mind. Blossoming traitorously despite Sherlock's many attempts to push it away.

John.

 _Of course,_ Sherlock smiled widely, eyes sparkling with slight arousal. John has had plenty of sex. And since Sherlock knows John, and trusts him, John is the perfect candidate to take Sherlock’s long overdue virginity.

Sherlock made to get up, practically bouncing with excitement that he normally reserved for a particularly interesting double-homicide, until he was reminded of one little detail.

John was straight.

Damn, Sherlock sighed as he sat back down, drumming his fingers along his leg in agitation, John’s self-proclaimed heterosexuality was annoying at the best of times, correcting every person who even suggested they might be a couple, much to Sherlock’s hidden chagrin.

He just-

Sherlock wished, just once, John might go along with it, allow a person to believe someone like Sherlock, someone odd, _freakish_ , could get someone as lovely, and strong, and brave as John…

Sherlock shook his head, prying his thoughts away from John’s admirable qualities to focus on the experiment at hand. So, if John was not an option, then perhaps Sherlock should find another way to slowly begin his sexuality experiment to put off going to a stranger, at least for a little while until he had worked up his courage. 

Thinking briefly for a moment, Sherlock’s mind lit up with a solution to his problem, and despite the embarrassed heat it brought to his normally pale cheeks, he decided to give it a try. Sherlock opened his laptop file and printed out the details for his first sexuality experiment.

_Experiment One: Masturbation with Sex Aids_

One step at a time, Sherlock nodded to himself and ignoring the fluttering of arousal in his abdomen, shutting the laptop with a click.

“The game is on.” 

* * *

 

“Sherlock, a package is here for you,” John called from the living room a few days later, having just come home from his day at the surgery. Sherlock threw open his bedroom door with a slam and raced forward, grabbing the box in John’s hands and tripping slightly in his rush, his cheeks rosy as he looked at the box John had been holding, knowing their contents and feeling quite excited.

“Sherlock? What is in the box?” John asked, watching his flatmate’s face in confusion as it warred between excitement and- is that embarrassment?

Sherlock Holmes, embarrassed? _Impossible_ , John scoffed, pushing that ridiculous idea away and refocusing on his mad flatmate.

Sherlock had recently finished his Master’s in Chemistry, and was working as a consulting detective with Scotland Yard. John’s friend Mike Stamford had asked John to seek out Sherlock and find a flatshare with him after coming home from his tour in Afghanistan, and John had agreed.

Despite seeming a bit posh and young for John to be flatmates with, he agreed to move in when he realized that the young man was a certified genius on their first case together, causing  John’s weary heart to race with adrenaline he thought he had left behind in the desert.

Now, just over two years later, he and Sherlock were still together at 221B, and John was content with their domesticity; tea rings left of the coffee table and their chairs well worn. But Sherlock had been acting oddly, well oddly for him, for the past few days, skittish and nervous, one could say, and John wanted to figure out why.

“I-It’s nothing John,” Sherlock placated unconvincingly, cringing at his own unconvincing lie and turning around before he could look back at John, walking straight into his bedroom and closing the door with a click, leaving John standing in the living room in confusion, before rolling his eyes and going to make a cup of tea and ignore his moody flatmate.

Sherlock waited a moment to ensure John was not following him before he opened the box, his heart speeding up as he viewed the items he had ordered discreetly three days ago. He pulled out some lubricant, a string of anal beads, three dildos, varying in size and function, and a small anal plug. Sherlock laid it all out precisely on the side of bed and felt unaccountably nervous.

 _I am alone,_ Sherlock thought to himself, trying to calm his aching nerves. Undressing slowly, Sherlock laid back on top of his bedsheets, nude and already half-hard in anticipation of the pleasure to come, goosebumps covering his skin from the slight chill of the London air in his bedroom against his exposed alabaster skin. 

Sherlock didn’t really masturbate, only when the need was unbearable and he needed deal with his transport, but in truth it was rare. Now, Sherlock felt pleasure building already just from the tantalizing and sinful thoughts racing through his mind of what he could do with the items laid to the left of him. Trailing a hand down his body, he gently grasped his manhood, stroking slowly over the shaft for a moment, bringing himself to full hardness faster than he ever had in the past, his fingers teasing up and down. 

Reaching over, fumbling slightly, Sherlock grasped the lube and drizzled it onto his dexterous fingers, taking a deep breath before reaching down to rub over his quivering opening, the muscle clenching with anticipation and trepidation. Sherlock had never penetrated himself before, never having felt the need to achieve orgasm, but now, now Sherlock felt a deep ache inside of him, and he slowly, slowly, pushed his index finger in, his mouth in an ‘O’ of surprise at the automatic feeling of fullness that quenched his need for something inside of him.

Momentarily at least.

After a few more moments of stroking his cock while delving a finger slowly in and out, Sherlock added another, gasping at the tightness of his soft channel around his own fingers and reveling in the new sensations.

“Oh _God_ ,” he cried, biting his lip after a moment to stifle his echoing moans as he found his sweet spot, gently rubbing circles around it and biting down to keep quiet, lest John hear.

A traitorous part of his mind _wanted_ John to hear him, but he stamped out that passing thought with a small huff of annoyance. 

Quivering with need, his ass clenching around his exploring finger, Sherlock slowly eased out his fingers and picked up the smallest dildo, a vibrator. Turning it on, he marveled at the racking pulsations in his hand from such a small, innocuous object.

Deciding he would marvel at the mechanics later, his need becoming aching, he gently moved the buzzing object down with a delighted shiver, rubbing it up and down between his fleshy cheeks with a moan at the erotic tickling sensations. Finally, unable to keep his wet, worked open entrance unfilled any longer, Sherlock slid the blue vibrator into his aching entrance, up, _up,_ moaning lowly at the sensation of being filled for the first time.

_Oh. Ohhh, yes._

Gasping out and pausing for a moment to catch his breath before continuing to push the seemingly unending toy into his trembling flushed body, not stopping until the entirety of the toy was pressed into his aching, pink entrance.

Sherlock’s cock was lying erect upon his stomach, leaking precome beneath his belly button, and Sherlock leaned down to swipe his thumb teasingly across the head, bringing some of the droplets up to his mouth to taste, suckling on his fingers as he continued clenching around the pulsations coming from the toy, and feeling completely and utterly wrecked after just moments of stimulation.

He trailed one hand from his mouth down to his chest, settling on a nipple and, feeling brave, beginning to tug lightly, wetting the nipple with the saliva from his mouth and wishing someone would suck on them, tug at them lightly with their teeth, soothing the ache with their tongue. 

 _What would John think_ , Sherlock’s traitorous mind whispered, _if he could see you now_.

 _Nooo,_ Sherlock thought in retaliation, the sheer humiliation of John walking in to see Sherlock, naked and flushed, no hands on his aching prick but one teasing his pink, hardened nipple and one thrusting a light blue vibrator in and out of his ravenous hole, begging to be taken by a man, well, John might come marching over to wretch Sherlock's hand away, pulling out the wicked, pulsing object himself and-

Sherlock came suddenly with a shout, painting his stomach with his seed as he covered his mouth with his unoccupied hand, muffling his whimpers of pleasure as wave after wave of unbelievable vibrations rolled through his body, shivering up his spine and releasing through his untouched cock.

Lying, covered in his own essence and trying to catch his breath, he heard a knock on the door, "Sherlock? You okay, I thought I heard a shout?" John asked, and once his words registered with Sherlock's unusually slow mind, his cheeks flushed with blood.

But John didn't sound scandalized or disgusted, so he must be truly naive to Sherlock's actions, he realized with a relieved exhale.

"Y-Yes John, I'm fine." Sherlock called, reaching over to wipe down his stomach and heaving abdomen, feeling giddy from the rush of endorphins and feeling as though he could solve a triple homicide in a minute.

When Sherlock heard John lingering at the door, he huffed, rolling his eyes, "I'm busy with an experiment John, go away."

With that, John walked away with a huff, seeming to believe Sherlock's typical, brusk answer.

Sherlock stood up and stretched, feeling a pleasant throbbing coming from his backside and his still hardened nipples and realized that, perhaps, he could get used to this. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, as soon as John had made his goodbyes and was off to his- _boring, typical, mind-numbingly dull_ \- job, Sherlock bounded off of the couch where he had been lounging and ran to his bedroom, throwing off his dressing gown and tattered pajamas in a minute and going to his bed, crouching down and pulling out the small black box where he had carefully placed his sex toys the day before after cleaning them.

Opening the box, Sherlock began to reach towards the anal beads with an inquisitive gaze when he heard his phone text alert noise _beep_.

Rolling his eyes at the appalling timing, Sherlock went over and began digging through his discarded dressing gown to find his phone, seeing a text lighting up the small screen.

_A double homicide, a son and father, no one at home, doors and windows locked and no other family except the mother. Will you come?_

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade’s boring case and typed back his answer.

_Not for a case so boring. I am confident that even the imbecilic Scotland Yard can catch the murderer._

Lestrade responded in seconds.

_Sherlock, I really need you on this one._

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock began getting dressed, stealing out of the front door after grabbing his Belstaff and phone, reaching down to text John.

He was beginning to text his associate before remembering, John had work. He had expressly told Sherlock to stop bothering him while he was at the surgery, because they needed the money to pay bills.

With a sigh, Sherlock hailed a cab and rode in silence to New Scotland Yard, wishing a certain army doctor was sitting beside him.

He stared out the window and released an inaudible sigh, knowing that his sentiments were wasted on John, who would never be interested in a man. 

* * *

 

John was having an admittedly horrible day. A two year old had been sick on him in the morning, and he had been sneezed on twice as the flu season worked its way through the population of London. As the clock ticked slowly towards the end of the workday, John sighed and put his head in his hands.

He wondered what Sherlock was doing. Most likely out solving a case or lounging on their furniture like an overgrown cat.

John allowed himself a fond smile at that, imagining Sherlock as an aloof cat rather than his irritating, brilliant flatmate.

Occasionally, John wished he could go back to their first night at Angelo’s. He wished he could pry more into why girlfriends _or_ boyfriends were not Sherlock’s area. He wished things could be different between them, on the nights when they sat across from each other, and John glanced up to see Sherlock, eyes closed, his mind racing from deductions, and John wants to get up and touch him. Desperately.

It’s like an ache that hasn’t gone away, despite the two years they’ve lived in platonic contentment.

John always wanted more, and every time someone suggested they were a couple, he became irritated, snarking that they weren’t together like that, that he wasn’t gay.

But sometimes at night, lying in his bed and yearning for Sherlock, he wished…

He was lost in his musings when he heard a polite knock at the door of his office. With a small sigh, John stood up and paced over, throwing the door open with a barely restrained huff of annoyance.

But on the other side was a young man, at least ten years younger than John- now in his mid thirties- who was blinking at him owlishly.

He had a small, shy smile on his face and his hand was raised in an awkward half wave. He was tall and lean, with short, brown hair and green eyes that were averted nervously.

He was handsome, John admitted to himself with a cough, gesturing for the young man to come in and state his business with the tired, overworked doctor.

“Hello, Dr. Watson,” he said, his baritone voice soft, “my name is Michael, I am a new nurse here, and I was sent to get your paperwork.”

"Just John, please," he responded kindly. 

John walked over to his desk to gather up the assorted documents he had just finished up, walking back over and handing the stack to the young man, feeling a little hum in his stomach when the boy met his eyes and looked away, a slight rosiness on his pale cheeks.

 _He’s blushing, because of me,_ John thought proudly. Nodding once more to the young nurse- _Michael_ -John turned back to his desk.

“Have a good night, Michael,” John called back.

“Yes, sir,” he responded instantly. John whipped around in surprise at being called _‘sir’_ outside of the army, but he was greeted by a flustered expression, a brilliant redness settling over Michael’s rounded cheeks, and John felt a wicked smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

 _So, that’s how this is going to be_ , John thought, a wild idea popping up in his mind.

Facing Michael fully, John ran his eyes down his lean body, noticing Michael following his prying gaze with a shocked expression, clutching the forms closer to his chest so as to not drop them. John slowly strolled forward, ever the army captain, and decided to take action.

“Have coffee with me?” John asked with a hint of a command, his eyes never leaving Michael’s face, who blinked in confusion before the words registered, and he smiled shyly once more and looked down, fiddling with the folders he was holding for a moment and nodding.

“Yes, that would be- I mean, yes,” Michael answered, still looking down, and John watched the flustered young man with a smile.

“Good, how about after work?”

Michael nodded; turning to the door to hurry out the way he had come, John’s eyes staring heatedly at his back until he was gone, disappearing down the corridor.

John smiled as he walked back to his desk to sit down, looking forward to his date.

While it was true John was not gay, he had realized he was bisexual in the army. With the muscled chests and arms of the recruits, the hidden liaisons in the dark on cold desert nights, and his hopeless crush on his gentle commanding officer James Sholto.

No, John was _certainly_ attracted to both men and women, but since returning to London, he had only entertained the thought of the opposite sex, Sherlock offering a brief moment of hope before it was squashed out in the same instant.

But Michael, well, he was beautiful and young; everything John enjoyed in a man, remembering the homesick, youthful recruits who had been soothed by his expertise, when John had taught them how to pleasure a man, how to offer themselves fully. 

After all, he wasn’t named “Three-Continents-Watson" for nothing.

John glanced up at the clock and saw there was only an hour left until work was over, and his date with Michael, and with a smile, he got back to work, the day not seeming too horrible after all. 

* * *

John met Michael at the coffee shop around the corner from the surgery after freshening up, and saw the young man clutching a coffee in his two hands. He appeared to be extremely nervous, if his fiddling with the coffee lid was any indication.

“Hello Michael,” John said, sitting down in the chair opposite him and watching as the young man looked up with a small smile, some of the tenseness easing from his shoulders.

“Hey John, do you want to grab a coffee or tea?” Michael asked sweetly, and John nodded, getting up with a smile to order a small cup of earl grey, taking the steaming mug back to Michael, and sitting down with a smile.

The two men chatted for a while, about how Michael was enjoying nursing at the surgery, and how long flu season seemed to be lasting.

“So, why is a doctor like you working in a GP position?” Michael asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion and reminding John of Sherlock’s mannerisms when he was stumped on a case…

Shaking away the thought of Sherlock, John refocused, “I was in the army, but I was shot and unable to continue my work as a surgeon due to the slight tremor in my left hand.”

Michael nodded sympathetically, reaching out to grab John’s free hand across the table and squeeze it lightly, “I’m sorry, but thank you for your service.”

John grinned at the kind young man sitting across from him, “thank you, Michael, but I am quite happy here. I work as a GP now and occasionally help New Scotland Yard solve cases with my flatmate.”

Michael seemed curious about Sherlock, and John indulged him, “Sherlock and I have been living together for two years, he is absolutely brilliant, I’ve never met a man quite like him before. His ability to look at you, and see you, pull out the deepest parts of you, is truly amazing.” John’s mind flashed with images of Sherlock- the two of them laughing on the steps of 221B, chasing down the latest criminal, sitting in their armchairs, John watching Sherlock play the violin…

Michael watched John’s face closely as he shook himself from his imaginings, and refocused on Michael.

Michael watched him for another moment with a sad smile, the light from his forest green eyes fading into something like acceptance, “you care for him,” Michael said, "more than just friends," and John opened his mouth to deny it, as he always did.

But….

John sighed, pulling his hand away from Michael’s to run it over his face, “yes, yes I do care for him. I’m sorry, he isn’t interested in relationships so I figured-“

“You’d try it out with someone new,” Michael finished with an understanding expression, his brow furrowed, “but I don’t want to get involved with someone whose heart is already spoken for.”

John observed Michael for a moment longer before nodding with a sigh, “I know. Thank you for this Michael, you really are a handsome sort,” John replied with a teasing wink, watching as the younger man's ears pinked once more.

John stood up, and with a nod and a farewell, he dumped his coffee in the nearest bin and started home.

 _Another failed date,_ he thought with a sigh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous!Sherlock is up next, but don't worry, John knows *just* how to handle his detective ;)
> 
> Comments/Kudos are appreciated. Any ideas can be messaged to my Tumblr (DPS)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Sherlock and caring John in this chapter, beginning to explore kinks in the next. Pure fluff.

John walked in the front door of 221B, walking slowly up the seventeen worn steps and entering his living room, finding Sherlock sitting in his armchair.

The young man was wearing a blue shirt and fitted dress pants, causing him to look refined and, at the same time, emphasizing how lean and young he truly is. John stared at him in awe for a moment, unable to believe that after all these months; Sherlock was still able to take his breath away.

The realization of having _finally_ admitted his feelings for Sherlock, even if just to himself, crashed over John as he stared at the detective in wonderment.

Sherlock considered John, looking him up and down, a growing look of confusion gracing his pale features, his brow furrowing and his plump mouth turning down in a frown.

“You went on a date,” Sherlock noted absently, almost to himself, “there is a tea stain on your shirt cuff, and your pants are wrinkled with specific creases indicating you sat in a new chair, uncomfortable, so you went to a coffee shop. Probably the new one that just opened around the block from your surgery; so it was someone who works with you,” Sherlock fired off at a rapid pace, and despite his correct deductions, his tone grew more and more confused, his eyebrows drawing in together, and John had a sudden urge to press against the crinkle there to ease Sherlock’s tense expression.

John held his breath, feeling unaccountably nervous but knowing that Sherlock, usually uninterested in John’s dating habits due to his own apathy, would not likely be homophobic, or biphobic as it were.

Sherlock stood up, walking rapidly towards John and circling him in a predatory manner, observing him from all angles. John stood in military rest, confused at Sherlock’s attentiveness but refusing to back down from his youthful flatmate’s examination.

Sherlock looked up to meet his eyes, a challenge shining in his own changeable irises, “you don’t have a hint of perfume around you, rather cologne.”

He said it quietly, and John exhaled slowly, watching Sherlock’s reactions and not denying it. He said nothing, only stood there in the tense silence surrounding 221B, staring at Sherlock, his silence acting as confirmation.

Sherlock waited, and _waited_ , expecting for John to deny what Sherlock had observed, but he stood there, looking at Sherlock with hardness set in his eyes, as if expecting retaliation from _Sherlock_.

Sherlock flinched away from the look, remembering John’s assertion that he often acted cruelly, like a machine, and he backed up slowly as his mind raced.

_John was on a date with a man. John with a man. John like’s men. John. John, oh god._

“Sherlock?” John asked, troubled by the frantic look that was rapidly falling over Sherlock’s sharp features, “Sherlock, are you alright?”

Sherlock shook his head, peering back up at John, watching the doctorly concern on John’s face with a growing sense of awful realization.

John did like men, he would date them, perhaps _love_ them, but he would never feel that way about Sherlock. Not after these past two years, with Sherlock being a bit not good a bit too often; the experiments in the kitchen, the lack of kindness Sherlock often displayed, and his basic lack of respect for John.

Sherlock’s hateful mind reminded him of all the times he had proven himself to be unlovable:

_“Relationships aren’t my area.”_

_“I know it’s fine.”_

_“Romantic entanglements are useless.”_

_“Please tell me you have your gun, I have a sudden need to use it.”_

_“Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.”_

Without realizing it, Sherlock’s feet had carried him to the couch, falling down with a shocked _thump_ , and allowing his self-loathing to spread throughout his body, feeling sickness rolling in his stomach at the memories of all the times he had shut himself away from John without realizing it.

That first night in Angelo’s, it might have been a proposition. But Sherlock had turned him down, turned away, and John was now looking for other people, other _men_.

“Sherlock, look at me,” John’s voice distantly echoed where Sherlock was lost in his mind, but he ignored it. He couldn’t _bear_ to stay another instant in the same room, the same flat, as John.

Not after this.

Sherlock shot up like a flash, darting past John to grab his coat and practically throwing himself down the stairs, ignoring John’s confused call, “Sherlock, wait!”

“I can’t John,” he whispered to himself.

Sherlock slammed the door to 221B behind him, and walked quickly away, trying to stem to prickling in his eyes and the rapid breathing in his chest.

John stood in the silence of the flat for a moment in confusion. Sherlock was acting very oddly, and right before he bolted from the room, a look had passed over his unusually pale features. It looked like heartbreak.

But that couldn’t be right _,_ John thought as he paced around the living room, why would Sherlock be heartbroken at John dating another man….

Oh. _Oh, no_.

Sherlock was young, sometimes John forgot what it was like to be in his twenties, untried and completely unknowing of certain intimacies. Perhaps, Sherlock was jealous? He had certainly acted jealous of the women John had dated in the past, but this, this reaction was new. Sherlock seemed devastated, crushed.

And when he left, it looked like _tears_ were glistening in his virescent eyes.

Quickly, John texted Mycroft.

_Where is he? JW_

A moment later, he received a response.

_Leinster Gardens, his favorite bolt hole. Don’t bother finding him if you are only going to make his sentimental weakness any worse. MH_

John growled as he typed out a reply: _Fuck off Mycroft, I care about him. I want to be with him. JW_

He dropped his phone into his pocket, and grabbed his coat, hurrying down the stairs and hailing a cab, heading to Leinster Gardens and praying he wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

 

Sherlock was softly choking on sobs, heated tears flowing down his cheeks, when the door to his secret bolt hole opened, a figure he would recognize anywhere stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a succinct _click_.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John whispered, his voice sounding agonized, and Sherlock’s cheeks blushed in humiliation at John seeing him like this, holed up in a filthy hallway, pitying him in any way, but he was unable to control his heaving chest and hiccuping cries.

John knelt down next to him, and gathered the despondent detective in his firm arms, holding him to his chest and breathing slowly, exaggeratedly, so Sherlock would match his breathing and calm down.

After a moment, Sherlock's tired body went completely pliant, allowing John to situate his body so he was lying between John’s legs, his head buried in John’s chest as tears soaked through John's work button down. Sherlock distantly wished John was wearing one of his ugly, soft jumpers, but relished the feeling of John’s strong chest, John’s warmth, _John_.

“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” John commanded softly, brushing Sherlock's hair and causing Sherlock’s entire body to tense at the endearment, before a few more helpless tears escaped, the younger man feeling confused and tired and just wanting John to help him, guide him. He was so tired of always being in control. His mind was still swirling, and the crying had given him a headache.

John reached down to feel Sherlock's cheek, and it was heated and wet from his tears. He was blushing. John nodded to himself, his thoughts confirmed that Sherlock wanted more than friendship as well, his nervousness but also adorable shyness shining through. 

“I-I just, you went on a date with a man, and I thought you weren’t gay, you’ve said it enough,” Sherlock accused, nuzzling closer to John at the admission of why he was so dismayed, and John hummed quietly, looking down and feeling butterflies in his stomach at Sherlock's tactile actions.

“Yes, I think I realized how confusing it would have been for you shortly after you left. But Sherlock-“ John took his hand away from stroking Sherlock’s hair and reached down to lift up his chin, forcing Sherlock to meet his eyes, “I had no idea you wanted that with me. Anything. That’s why I always denied it when people asked, I thought you would hate people assuming we were together.”

John sighed, looking away for a moment before looking back to Sherlock’s wide eyes, “I’ve cared for you for a long time. That’s why it didn’t work out with Michael, he knew my heart wasn’t free to be given.”

Sherlock, blushing even deeper at John’s declaration and glaring at the idea of John on a date with _Michael_ , caused a burst of fondness to expand in John’s chest, and he shook his head with a laugh at his contradictory detective.

“Well, I know I haven’t been exactly open to it in the past….” Sherlock trailed off, biting his lip and John looked at him with an incredulous expression, one dark eyebrow raised, “alright, I detested sentiment openly, but John,” Sherlock reached up to grasp at John’s shirt where he was still lying half on John’s body, feeling the muscles beneath his hands and failing to suppress a shiver, “I’ve never done this before. But the idea of you, with a woman or worse, with a man, reminded me that I couldn’t have you,” Sherlock paused, taking a deep breath, “I’d wasted my chance.”

John started to stroke Sherlock’s cheekbones, cradling his head between John’s calloused palms and holding him tenderly but firmly, “you haven’t wasted anything Sherlock. I want to be with you, in _everyway_ , but only if that is what you desire, hmm,” John hummed, his attention rapt on Sherlock’s rosy cheeks, an unfamiliar shyness emanating from Sherlock’s face as he nibbled at his pink lips, his eyes still wet with tear tracks drying on his lovely face.

“Come now, love, let’s go home,” John said quietly, inwardly smirking at Sherlock’s brilliant flush at the endearment, and the younger man nodded, pushing himself up and waiting for John to do the same.

John reached forward to grab his delicate hand, and led him out of the darkened hallway at Leinster Gardens, smiling as the rare London sun blanketed their forms as they walked out to hail a cab.

It was time to go home.

John looked at Sherlock, who was quiet now, most likely tired from the emotional display and the subsequent discussion, and John knew he needed some time to rest before John started laying out boundaries for their new relationship.

God, John felt giddy at the notion of having a relationship, a real relationship, with Sherlock.

And, remembering Sherlock’s blushes and desperation for John’s touches, deferring to John naturally as breathing, John grinned mischievously at the thought that they might have to have a few discussions about dynamics in the _bedroom_ as well, as Sherlock seemed to be a natural submissive.

 _Perfect,_ John’s mind whispered as Sherlock tucked his head underneath John’s neck once they were settled in the car, and John smiled down at the adorable man beneath him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: John discovers one of Sherlock's kinks....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light Praise!Kink and fluff abounding. Also possessive!John is here to stay :) Comment with a kink you would like to see! Kudos appreciated.  
> Cheers!

 

When the two men arrived at Baker Street, John paid the cabbie and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, guiding him into their home, up the steps and into the living room.

He let go of Sherlock's clammy hand briefly, going to make a spot of tea to calm their nerves and to help re-hydrate Sherlock after all his crying.

A few minutes later, John reentered the living room with two cups of tea, one absolutely doused in sugar and one with a splash of milk, and watched Sherlock oscillating in the middle of the room, seeming unable to decide where to go, his body tensed to escape and his eyes flickering. 

 _Well, we cant have that,_ John thought, setting their mugs down on the coffee table and reaching towards Sherlock, grasping him by his upper arms and settling him on the sofa. John sank down next to him, and reached forward, grabbing the tea and pushing it into Sherlock’s still unresponsive hands.

Sherlock grasped the tea after a moment, and peered at John out of the corner of his eyes. John turned towards him with a smile, pushing his thigh up to rest against Sherlock’s bony knee, getting used to the sensation of being allowed to touch Sherlock, whenever he wants, to grab him, pushing him down on any surface and-

_Ohhh._

John shook his head to clear the decidedly inappropriate thoughts away, turning towards his uncertainty ridden flatmate, wanting to calm Sherlock’s nerves and make sure the young man was feeling alright after the fiasco with John’s date.

Had it truly been only hours before? It seemed as if the world had changed since John went to find Sherlock, seeing the detective pouring his hurt heart out, aching sobs and cries that will haunt John’s dreams from the deep pain they had expressed.

Sherlock was staring into his tea, and John cupped his hand beneath the mug, bringing Sherlock’s clasped hands and the mug up to those plush, pink lips, forcing him to take a drink.

Sherlock’s cheeks suffused with color at John forcing him to drink his tea, as if he was an infant, and nudged his hand gently away with his elbow and an embarrassed cough.

John held his hands up in surrender, secretly adoring being able to see this newest side to his enigmatic friend. Sherlock was ever put together in his fine suits and his presence that filled up a room in an instant.

But here, in the comfort of his home, with his chest opened for John to see, he is the slightly overgrown teenager in regards to intimacy.

John couldn’t _wait_ to teach Sherlock.

Sherlock was observing him now, and seeing John’s dilated pupils as he stared at Sherlock, he felt heat licking up his neck and face once again and he quickly went back to drinking his tea.

After a moment more, John spoke, “Alright Sherlock, I need to know what you want out of a relationship. Obviously neither of us will change in our day to day lives, you will still put body parts unmarked in the fridge and I will still put up a fuss about it-“ John said, and Sherlock huffed out a small chuckle at that, “-but if you want intimacy, romantic or otherwise, then we need to talk about what we want out of a relationship. So tell me, Sherlock, what do you want from me?”

At John’s question, Sherlock thought back to a few days ago, lying on his back and panting for John’s cock to be filling him rather than the blue vibrator, to be completely at John’s mercy as he told him what to do, filling him up completely....

John watched Sherlock’s shy eyes look away, and stare out the window. John allowed Sherlock to look away, realizing how difficult laying out these desires would be to a man as private and suppressed as Sherlock was.

“I-I want you, to be in control,” Sherlock whispered, “I want you romantically and sexually, I know that,” Sherlock continued, and John leapt at the chance to talk about the sexual part of their relationship in the discussion.

“How do you know that you want me sexually, love?” John asked, half-serious and half-teasing, and Sherlock delivered the reaction he had craved, curling in on himself and gasping out a mortified, _“John!”_

John contained his pleased chuckle at Sherlock’s predictability, “So, have you thought of me during your private time, I’m to understand? And what do we do, in these fantasies of yours?”

Hearing John speak so openly and unselfconsciously about Sherlock’s desires for him caused a flare of heat to course down Sherlock’s spine. John reached over to flip the man back around to face him, lifting Sherlock’s chin up with one hand and clenching his hip with the other, staring deeply into his eyes.

John leaned down, and before Sherlock could comprehend what he was doing, John was brushing his lips over the plump, pliant lips belonging to Sherlock. Kissing him softly, gently, mouthing lightly over those lips. He heard a sound of ceramic breaking, and realized Sherlock had dropped the tea mug on accident, reaching up to hold onto John’s arms and digging his fingers into John like an anchor from the new sensations he felt.

_Oh, sweet Lord. Sherlock._

When Sherlock gasped a moment later, his mouth opening, John took it as a delicious invitation and delved into Sherlock’s mouth, licking into him and tasting too sweet tea and a taste that was exclusively Sherlock’s alone. John had just begun to nibble lightly on Sherlock’s full lower lip, when Sherlock let out a moan and clutched himself closer, beginning to be bolder in his kisses back. John grasped the back of Sherlock’s neck, and tilted his head back, allowing John to plunder his mouth with abandon and force Sherlock to surrender control, which he did happily.

Naturally submissive indeed.

In the next moment, Sherlock sighed, and John opened his eyes briefly to see Sherlock’s eyes fluttering in pleasure from John’s kisses alone, his cheeks flushed John’s new favorite color; a mix of scarlet and pink rose.

John began to push Sherlock back onto the couch, but yanked himself away in a moment of clarity.

Sherlock’s a virgin.

John had his suspicions, but they were just confirmed by the tentative kisses Sherlock had returned, as if he had only kissed a couple of times before. John scrutinized his detective; Sherlock was breathing harshly, his lips swollen and wet, oh so _, wet_ , from John’s attentions, that he had to clench his hands into fist to keep from overwhelming Sherlock too much.

“J-John,” Sherlock panted, and he sounded completely wrecked. John tensed his body to control the shivers that went down his back at Sherlock whimpering his name like that is a different context.

John pulled Sherlock forward so he was lying down with his head in John’s lap, and Sherlock could feel the bulge bumping against his ear with a shy smile of happiness- proof that John wanted him too.

John reached down to stroke softly over Sherlock’s covered chest with one hand, the other reaching up to play with his curls, softly twirling them around on finger and then the next, watching them bounce back, just as changeable and adorable as the man they belonged to.

“You’re so cute, I don’t know how I kept my hands off of you for so long,” John murmured into the hushed tranquility surrounding the two men.

Sherlock turned so his head was facing outwards, slightly away from John and sighing happily as John continued sure strokes down his chest and twirling in his hair; he felt completely safe.

He had known he wanted John in his bed, giving him pleasure, but he hadn't realized how much he had come to want this easy intimacy that John always achieved with other people, but Sherlock was unable to.

“There, all you needed was a cuddle, didn’t you, sweetheart.” John said, as if to himself, but Sherlock closed his eyes as a pulsing sensation slipped down his abdomen and settled in his groin. God, he loved when John called him sweet names.

Sherlock always thought it was ridiculous when John spouted poetry to his girlfriends, but now, Sherlock wanted John to call him “sweetheart” and “love” endlessly.

“Time for bed, Sherlock,” John said, watching with a quirked smile as the detective groaned in annoyance and pushed his head up into John’s hand, not wanting the stroking to stop.

With an exasperated eye roll, John got up, ignoring Sherlock’s whine, and reached down to pick up the lanky detective, cradling the lightweight young man in his arms as he started towards Sherlock’s bedroom, ignoring Sherlock’s startled gasp at being picked up.

Once in the bedroom, John laid Sherlock back on his bed. He leaned down and kissed the rosy cheeks multiple times, feeling Sherlock’s reluctant grin at John’s silliness.

John leaned back to look at Sherlock for a moment, and made a decision. He stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it out of his trousers and letting it flutter to the floor of Sherlock’s room as the man watched from his bed avidly.

Sherlock felt arousal pooling in his belly as John reached down, unbuttoning his trousers quickly and, with a small smirk to Sherlock, let them drop to the floor, kicking off his shoes and trousers.

Standing there in his pants, he grinned when he saw Sherlock staring at his bulge with wide eyes, “not tonight love. Here, let me get you your pajamas.”

John went over to Sherlock’s dresser, grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms and walking back over to his bed, laying the bottoms down and reaching over to begin undressing the oddly non-verbal man.

One by one the buttons were separated, exposing more and more of Sherlock pale, hairless chest, and John sucked in a quick breath when a hardened pink nipple was uncovered as his shirt fell to his sides.

John licked his lips and his cock twitched.

Sherlock’s chest was heaving quickly, but he made no move to stop John, nodding at him when he peered into his eyes questioningly. Sherlock shrugged off the shirt, and tossed it to the side of the bed, allowing John to reach towards his lower half, his bespoke trousers tented in arousal.

John leaned down unthinkingly to place a single kiss on Sherlock’s sternum, licking once, lightly, before pulling away. Sherlock’s hands clasped John’s strong shoulders at the surprise kiss, feeling overwhelmed but wanting more, more, _more_.

“John, please,” Sherlock beseeched, and John met his eyes with a tender smile gracing his features, his eyes crinkled in delight as he continued undressing Sherlock, unzipping the blank trousers carefully and pulling them down in one hasty movement, reveling in Sherlock’s keen as his cock was freed.

When the trousers, socks and shoes were discarded, Sherlock laid on the bed in his tight, black pants; perfectly framing the slender outline of his cock for John’s eyes.

John swallowed, “you’re beautiful,” he whispered lowly, and a tremor ran through Sherlock’s flushed body at John’s praise.

 _Guess who has a praise kink_ , John realized with a wicked smile, a naughty thought popping into his head as he stared at his detective splayed out on the bed, ready and willing for whatever John would choose to do with him.

In a swift move, John straddled Sherlock’s thighs, reaching up to stroke two strong hands up and down Sherlock’s torso, pressing down firmly and keeping his body back on the bed in a submissive pose.

“Who is my brilliant detective?” John cooed, and Sherlock realized what John was doing through his hazy fog of arousal. He tried to fight John off half-heartedly, but John merely smirked, stretching his body out so his abdomen was lying directly on top of Sherlock’s trapped cock. Holding Sherlock down with his strength while putting pressure on his leaking member.

“Come now Sherlock, tell me, who is my _brilliant boy_?” John commanded, and Sherlock’s eyes rolled back at hearing the words ‘brilliant boy’ from John’s lips. It was embarrassing to be coddled, that was for sure, but at the same time Sherlock wanted to belong to John, and he wanted to be taken care of. 

“I-I am” Sherlock panted, and John lightly rolled his body on top of Sherlock’s trapped cock which was forming a wet spot on his pants and beginning to leak onto John’s abdomen, much to his embarrassment at John seeing him so undone.

But there was nothing Sherlock could do, John had him trapped, and if he were honest, there was nowhere he wanted to escape to.

He wanted John to own him.

John gave him a wicked smile, leaning down to kiss Sherlock’s sternum once again, continuing to roll his abdomen against Sherlock’s prick, and reveling in Sherlock’s whimpers.

“That’s quite right little one. You’re my good boy, aren’t you Sherlock, and do you know what happens to good boys?” He asked tauntingly, absolutely adoring Sherlock's reactions to the perverse language.

“ _Noo, ohh_ ,” Sherlock answered, his breathing growing more labored by the second, the flush of embarrassment and arousal on his face trailing down to spread over his chest, much to John’s delight. He wanted nothing more than to follow that flush with his tongue, licking and sucking at the creamy skin. Discovering new ways of making Sherlock moan.

But for now…

“Beautiful boys get to come,” John commanded, pressing fully down against Sherlock’s aching erection and marveling at the shout and subsequent wetness that began to spread over his abdomen.

“JOHN,” Sherlock cried out, writhing on the sheets in complete abandon, feeling his heart racing due to his inexorable pleasure soaking his undergarments.

Sherlock, still completely blissed out and lightly moaning, was shocked when a pair of lips captured his. John swallowing the luscious moans from the first orgasm of many he was going to bestow on his gorgeous detective.

 _You’re mine,_ John thought possessively, reaching down to gather some of the wetness still seeping from beneath Sherlock’s ruined pants and bringing it up.

With a wicked grin, John painted Sherlock’s lips with his own essence and then leaning down, kissing and licking at the cum stained lips, tasting Sherlock’s pleasure for the first time and quickly becoming addicted.

Reveling in Sherlock’s startled gasp at John’s lewd behavior, he leaned back and winked, rolling off of the detective and ignoring his own aching member to go and find a washcloth.

Entering the bedroom, he saw Sherlock asleep, his arms and legs akimbo on top of the duvet and his cum stained undergarments beginning to cool to his skin.

John rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, and began cleaning Sherlock off.

After a moment, staring at the exhausted and sweet expression of his sleeping detective, John went over to the dresser, taking out a new pair of underwear and gently sliding down the ruined pair from Sherlock’s lithe body.

Looking away from Sherlock’s flaccid member to give him some privacy, John wiped the sensitive member with the cloth to clear away the sticky release, smiling at Sherlock’s grumble as he tried to twist away from the cold towel on his bits.

John slide a new pair of underwear and Sherlock’s pajama bottom’s on his unconscious form, and then raced into the hallway to handle his arousal. 

Grasping his leaking, erect cock firmly, he began tugging it and groaning, just remembering Sherlock’s sweet, oversensitive reaction’s to John’s teasing, causing him to come from a few words and some light pressure against his cock.

John came with a cry, remembering the taste of Sherlock against his lips.

Wiping himself down, and sighing his relief, he discarded the washcloth and walked back into Sherlock’s room, turning off the light only to be greeted by the sleepy-lidded pair of blue-green eyes staring back at him.

“John, stay.”

John looked at his half-awake detective who was holding out his skinny arms, and John was helpless to resist. Climbing into bed, John arranged the duvet to rest over them before tugging Sherlock close, tucking him under his chin and marveling at how perfect it felt, as if they were meant to fit together in this way.

Leaning down to kiss his curly head, John watched Sherlock snuffle lightly, already asleep once again.

And with one last kiss, John also fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: John's find's Sherlock's box of toys, and decides it is time to play....


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinks: anal play, light BDSM colors/safeword, rimming, and handjobs  
> Any kinks you would like to see, please comment below or message me at DPS on Tumblr.  
> Cheers!

Sherlock groaned as he rolled out of bed, feeling somewhat sore and remembering why. Last night, with John.

 _Oh_.

John was going to be utterly unbearable about the whole, _Sherlock likes compliments_ , thing. Dammit.

Sherlock rolled out of bed, walking across the room to where his dressing gown lay and picked it up, tugging it on over his pajamas, remembering how John put on the pajamas on his unconscious body. Such an idea might be uncomfortable to someone else, but Sherlock felt nothing but safe at the thought of John caring for him; a shy smile tugging at his lips in the early morning light.

At the same time as Sherlock was redressing, John reached down to grab his trousers from the floor, and he noticed a small black box resting beneath Sherlock’s bed.

Squinting his eyes in confusion at the odd object underneath the otherwise empty space, John forgot about his trousers and lifted up the box and flipped it open, despite his internal warning that it could contain any number of gruesome experiments inside.

What he found, however, caused a wicked grin to grace his features.

“Really Sherlock?” John asked, and when Sherlock whipped his head around, John was holding his black box, looking at the contents inside with a smirk before looking back up and meeting Sherlock’s eyes, “under the bed? Can you be more of a teenage boy right now?”

Sherlock flushed at the insinuation and the fact that John looked at his ever growing collection, already feeling vulnerable after their night together and the reminder of his inexperience making him defensive.

“If you’re going to make fun of me, then you can just _leave_ ,” Sherlock snarled back, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to adopt a haughty expression on his blushing face, and failing.

John chuckled at Sherlock’s mortified expression, and subsequent indignant behavior, and moved forward, baking him up predatorily until the back of his legs hit the bed and he fell down, allowing John to tower over him, still holding the black box and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Do you want to play?” John asked lowly, making the request seem more like a demand, and Sherlock gulped before nodding vigorously. Yes, he wanted, so much.

“Use your words, love, yes or no,” John insisted with a tender smile belaying his suggestive words, but Sherlock heeded his command regardless.

“Yes.”

“Good boy, Sherlock,” John whispered, biting back a smile as Sherlock bit his lip and glanced away shyly at the reminder towards his proclivity for praise.

John flipped open the box and unceremoniously poured the contents out on the bed, and Sherlock turned his head away, releasing a breathe he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He and John were truly together now, exploring the physical side of their relationship.

John picked up the anal beads, his cerulean eyes sparkling with mischief as he turned back to Sherlock.

“We’re going to use the color system during playtime. Whenever I ask you for a color, you will answer green if you want to continue, yellow to slow down or pause, and red to stop immediately. You will never receive a punishment for calling red or yellow, they’re there for you to use,” John instructed gently, “if you cannot answer, or do not, I will interpret that as red,” John finished, reaching over to pull Sherlock’s head to face his own, forcing his enigmatic eyes to meet the older man’s.

“Yes John,” Sherlock said in agreement, tugging on his lower lip in nervous expectation, causing it to redden. John watched in fascination before tearing his eyes away. 

“Beautiful,” John whispered into the early morning light, pulling Sherlock up by the lapels of his dressing gown and then pulling it slowly from his shoulders, allowing it to pool around his hips and leave his torso bare.

Sherlock shivered at his near nakedness, and felt himself begin to harden once again, despite having released only minutes before.

John was going to utterly unwind him, leave him helpless against the onslaught of sexual pleasure. When Sherlock began his virginity experiment that was all it had been, an experiment.

But after last night, and his feelings of complete heartbreak at the realization that John would date men, but not him, it forced Sherlock to recognize the truth.

This was no longer an experiment, which had been an exercise in futility. The only person who could own, control, and calm Sherlock was John, and therefore he was the only option to take his virginity, and care for him in every way.

And Sherlock melted against John’s caring hands that patched him back together after grueling cases, tender hands that were now running up and down his torso in a steadying manner, gently encouraging Sherlock to relax his tense body.

Sherlock exhaled and focused on releasing the muscles in his torso, breathing in John’s scent, the lingering aroma of sex surrounding his body from their actions last night.

 _John must have masturbated once I was asleep_ , Sherlock realized, pleased that John had found his release but wishing he could have learned how to please his lover.

“Stop thinking love, one step at a time,” John crooned, and Sherlock nodded.

John knelt down to his knees, his golden skin and shining hair causing him to appear reverent in the morning, ethereal and entirely too good for someone like Sherlock. But John, as if sensing Sherlock’s disparaging thoughts, simply smiled and reached up, grasping his pajama bottoms and pants in one handful, pausing to look at Sherlock for permission.

“Color?” He asked, and Sherlock whispered, “green.”

John nodded slowly, and began to draw the articles of clothing gently down Sherlock’s alabaster legs until they were pooled on the floor of the bedroom. Sherlock’s cock bounced up to rest on his stomach, and he closed his eyes as he felt John’s eyes raking over his skin, memorizing him from his place on his knees.

Without warning, John knelt forward and grabbed Sherlock’s manhood, swallowing the head down. Sherlock’s eyes flew open, his hips attempting to thrust up into the inviting warmth around his sensitive member.

John only shook his head in delicious denial, still kissing lightly at Sherlock’s head, and his tongue moved in slow circles around the now leaking slit as if he was dying of thirst.

John’s brought one arm up, tickling at Sherlock’s inner thigh for a moment, causing Sherlock to gasp from the warring sensations of pleasure and the ridiculous impulse giggle.

John reached to Sherlock’s side when he was distracted, his head thrown back against the bed as he panted out, “ _Nnnhhh, John, ah.”_

John removed his mouth with a teasing peck, reaching to open the lube, setting it on the ground beside him and reaching for Sherlock’s hips, pulling him easily to the edge of the bed and ignoring his indignant call at being manhandled, “ _John!”_

John drizzled the lubricant over his wide, calloused fingers, and glanced up to see Sherlock watching him with hunger in his eyes, as well as a flickering of fear.

“Color?” John asked quietly, and Sherlock thought for a moment, before answering, “still green, John.”

“Glad to hear it,” he answered with a wicked grin, reaching one hand to grasp at Sherlock’s bony hip and the other a finger up and down Sherlock’s crevice, searching for his entrance but in no hurry.

Sherlock gasped at the cold feeling of wetness between his cheeks and forced himself to relax once more. He trusted John, John would never do anything to hurt him.

 _Unless you asked_ , Sherlock’s unhelpful mind supplied, and Sherlock was struck by an image of Captain Watson bossing him around, pushing Sherlock to his knees and unzipping his trousers, pulling Sherlock’s open and willing mouth forward….

Another day, Sherlock reminded himself, we have all the time in the world.

Meanwhile, John was pulling Sherlock’s slender right leg to rest over his good shoulder, his curious hands reaching to pull open Sherlock’s plump cheeks to expose his winking entrance to his eyes for the first time.

Sherlock felt heat flickering back to his face, once again cursing his pale complexion, as John looked at his most private place. When Sherlock hesitantly peered down, John was watching the hole quiver with a hungry expression on his face.

He met Sherlock’s nervous eyes and, with a wink, pressed a wet kiss right on Sherlock’s awaiting hole.

“ _J-John_ , what-” Sherlock cried, scandalized and unbelievably turned on, his cock twitching against his stomach as John lightly kissed on and around his pink entrance.

“What’s the matter Sherlock?” John asked innocently, pressing his lips around the pink opening in the next instant and sucking, nipping and licking inside and-

Suckling, nipping, pressing in, the muscle giving way….

_Bliss._

Sherlock was whining incoherently, writhing against the sheets, his right leg pressing John closer while at the same time trying to escape the delicious sensations wracking through his untried body.

After a few more teasing licks just inside of Sherlock’s rosebud, John knelt back to take in the work he had accomplished, smirking as he watched the empty entrance opening and closing, searching for something to fill the now empty and just barely stretched muscle.

John lifted on finger up, pressing teasingly against the pink wetness of the winking entrance, before pushing slowly inside, watching Sherlock’s face as he pressed down against John’s questing finger, seeking out his pleasure.

Sherlock was in no way a quiet lover, his low moans and high cries echoing around the bedroom in a sweet symphony of erotic expectations, and John felt his purpling cock leaking at the sheer sounds alone.

“ _Nggghhh,_ John, oh please, _please_.”

The sight of Sherlock, his gorgeous detective, actually taking his finger in and out of his virginal body, well, John nearly shot off at the warring sensations.

John added another finger, making sure there was enough lubricant so as not to cause Sherlock discomfort, and began seeking that naughty little spot just a few inches up and to the right….

“ _JOHN!_ ”

 _Found it,_ John smirked, rubbing directly on Sherlock’s sweet spot while holding his hip so he couldn’t squirm away. Beginning to scissor his fingers, John felt the wet entrance was stretched enough and picked up the purple anal beads.

He chuckled lowly at their color, the same color as Sherlock’s purple shirt. _Shirt of sex, indeed_ , John smiled to himself while coating the beads in lubricant and beginning to line the first small bead with Sherlock’s clenching entrance.

Pushing the first one in, and not getting a reaction from the overwhelmed detective, he pushed the next two in with quick succession, angling them so they were perfect to rub against Sherlock’s prostate.

That certainly received a pleasent reaction, as Sherlock’s face twisted in pleasure, his plump pink lip caught between his teeth as he tried to control his emphatic moans and failed spectacularly.

Sherlock’s head was empty despite a chanting of John’s name, his complete deductive abilities offline as he took pleasure from his once reviled transport. When he glanced down, his chest heaving and his body glistening with exertion, he was John kneeling between his legs, holding him there and watching Sherlock’s face with adoration plainly expressed.

In contradiction to his sweet expression as he stared at his love, he pushed, pushed, and _pushed_ until the next, much larger bead popped into Sherlock’s entrance.

Tugging lightly at the string hanging between Sherlock’s opened cheeks, John closed his eyes to savor the sweet moans coming from his beautiful detective.

Understanding Sherlock needed to come after all his teasing, John began tugging rhythmically against the string, watching as the largest bead began to slowly revel itself hiding behind the clenching opening, and then disappearing once again.

Coy, just like Sherlock.

After a few moments of the torrid teasing, Sherlock’s cock exploded untouched, the man arching off the bed in beautiful abandon. John harshly tugged at the beads in a swift motion, watching them spill from the pink opening, angling them to slip past Sherlock’s sweet spot as they retreated from his spent arse.

Sherlock’s cock released once, twice, three times more; coating his stomach in release as he whined and held onto the wrinkled sheets for dear life as his took his pleasure unheeded and uncontrolled.

John watched as Sherlock’s enduring orgasm finally subsided, and decided to give him a moment to catch his breath and recoup, walking to get a washcloth and depositing the anal beads in the sink of the bathroom to be washed, trying to ignore his aching prick.

When he entered the bedroom, Sherlock was sitting up on his elbows, staring at John with his pupils blown wide and a red flush reaching down to cover his chest, just brushing his hardened nipples.

“Come here John, let me help,” Sherlock begged, and John was helpless against his wish to learn how to pleasure him. Sherlock sat up, moving John to stand between his legs as he pulled the boxers down, looking at John’s erect manhood for the first him and feeling saliva pooling in his mouth at the size; it was above average, and the girth was thick.

Sherlock couldn't wait to suck it. 

“Tug gently, swiping your thumb over the tip,” John instructed, curling Sherlock’s hand around his cock as he remained standing, Sherlock sitting between his legs on the bed, eye level with his cock.

Sherlock began to do just that, a quick study as he watched John’s reactions, just a bit clumsy as he was only used to pleasuring his own cock and not someone else’s.

"Oh, good, so good Sherlock," John encouraged breathlessly. Sherlock looked at John, an earnest expression on his young, blushing face, peaking at him through his thick eyelashes as he continued to stroke John's cock reverently, and John came.

He coated Sherlock’s chest with his release, mixing with Sherlock’s own from minutes before, and the waves of pleasure rolling over him caused him to gasp and close his eyes briefly, missing the hungry expression on Sherlock's face as he watched John take his pleasure.

After a moment, Sherlock reached down to grab the discarded washcloth on the floor, wiping himself off carelessly before tossing the rag somewhere on the floor of the bedroom, ignoring John’s chuckle at his predictable laziness.

John decided a lie in was in order for himself and the younger man whose eyes were dropping tiredly, so he sat back on the bed, opening his arms, and Sherlock quickly curled into him, kissing him on the wound on his left shoulder and quickly falling asleep once again. John followed quickly thereafter, the two men sated.

At least for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was filthy....


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No sex, but the events are leading up to Sherlock's first punishment :)

Later on in the morning, just when the room was beginning to take on a golden hue from the sunshine outside, Sherlock and John were woken from their dozing by Sherlock’s text alert noise. Groaning, Sherlock rolled out of bed and stormed, naked, over to his dresser to pick up the infernal device.

John scanned Sherlock’s nude body hungrily, licking his lips in want, “so is this the new normal then?” He asked, watching Sherlock whip around to face him and running his eyes up and down his bare chest and his bits.

“You parading around bare-arsed, I mean. I don’t mind it.” John said with a wink and a smile, and Sherlock turned back to his phone to hide the blush rising to his cheeks.

John took a deep breath and released it, feeling utterly content to lie there until Sherlock beckoned for him to follow. John knew that while he may have the upper hand in their physical relationship, that Sherlock was still Sherlock and dominated his work and the world at large.

But in here, their home, he belonged to John; that thought sending a shiver down his spine. 

It made his easy submission to John’s whims that much more _delicious_.

“Come John, Lestrade has a new case for us. The game is on!” The curly haired man cried in excitement, and John watched from his reclined position on the bed as Sherlock scampered around the room like a puppy, throwing on his clothes rapidly until he was completely dressed, only missing his Belstaff.

But John knew what that skin looked like when it was flushed from pleasure, his lips still plump from the passionate kissing, his delightfully elegant cock curved up _just so_ and his arse, oh yes….

“John,” Sherlock whined, looking at the man who was still relaxing, nude, in the bed with twinkling eyes that spoke of dark promises.

The two men stared each other down, John channeling his inner hedonist and wishing for nothing more than to lie in bed all day, introducing Sherlock to any number of erotic activities.

Oh, what fun would that be.

But after a moment of staring at Sherlock’s wide, beseeching eyes, John caved with a put upon sigh, standing up and walking to where his boxers lay in the corner of the room where he had kicked them off just a few hours earlier.

As he began slipping them back on, Sherlock called from the doorway, his eyes glued to his phone screen with a delighted expression, “I’ll be waiting downstairs. Hurry!”

John quickly dressed at the behest of his lover, tugging on his pants with such force that he was almost knocked over from the rush of adrenaline flooding his system at the thought of another case.

The doctor and detective left quickly thereafter, jumping in a cab while Sherlock barked an address at the cabbie. With that, the two men were off.

“Lestrade, what have you got for me,” Sherlock queried in his usual haughty tone, and John had to choke off a laugh remembering Sherlock's high whines and begging cries the night before. He wasn’t so high and mighty then.

Sherlock glanced over at John’s barely covered laugh, and felt heat rising over his cheeks at John’s obviously deduced train of thought.

“The man murdered his wife, but we have no record of him returning home from his business trip in Scotland. He never got on the train.” Lestrade explained with a weary sigh, and Sherlock observed the room in silence for a moment before walking over to the woman’s body, leaning down to inspect her wedding ring.

From what John could see, it was dirty and smudged, “unhappy marriage,” he grumbled to himself, but Sherlock heard and turned to him with a smile.

“My bosman is learning. They do grow up so fast,” he teased, and John chuckled at Sherlock’s ridiculous behavior.

“I can’t help wanting to learn. You’re brilliant.” John said, and while the words were in no way new, the soft, intimate inflection was entirely untried.

Sherlock’s cheeks turned rosy, and he cursed his pale complexion as he turned to continue examining the body.

Lestrade looked between the two of them with wide eyes, watching the tender, blushing expression on Sherlock's face with complete confusion, but John caught his gaze and shook his head firmly. Not yet, Sherlock wasn’t ready for it to be acknowledged.

Always a keen mate, Lestrade nodded with a smile of congratulations on his face, and turned back to Sherlock, refocusing on the issue at hand.

“Got anything, Sherlock?”

Suddenly a creak was heard in the corner of the room, as a pale haired man darted forth and through the open doorway.

“Really Lestrade,” Sherlock huffed, “shouldn’t you make sure the murderer isn’t still present _before_ summoning me to the crime scene?”

Darting away before he could hear Lestrade’s indignant reply, Sherlock was racing down the stairs with John at his heels. The two men split up briefly with nods of understanding, going in opposite directions around the massive building, but by the time they met up on the other side, the murder was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he? He couldn't have gotten far," Sherlock growled in frustration, tugging lightly at his curls, his mind whirling at the possibilities of where the murder could have gone. 

While the two men caught their breath, Sherlock's virescent eyes observed movement in his peripheral vision and whipped around, his eyes locking with the murder who was only a few meters away and crouching low partially behind a trash bin, his eyes wild. 

The pale haired man jumped up with a filthy grin and chaos in his eyes, lifting the empty bin to hurl it at Sherlock and John.

But John stepped forward and knocked the large bin away with an easy swing in midair, and Sherlock watched the muscles flex beneath his think jumper at the movement while the trash bin hit the brick wall with a clang.

 _Become aroused by John later, catch the murderer_ , his mind reminded him.

“Come on John, he’s getting away,” Sherlock cried with a voice of enthusiasm rather than irritation, the trill of the chase already pumping through his veins, and John fought down a smile at the precious detective in order to focus on what he had said.

Oh, shit.

Sherlock had turned and was racing off as fast as his lanky legs could carry him, leaving John behind in a confused stupor for a moment before he realized Sherlock’s brash idea to chase the murder without a plan.

A murder that had desperation in his eyes, someone who may still be armed, John thought wildly.

“Sherlock wait,” John yelled, rushing after the impulsive younger man, but it was too late. Sherlock’s mind on a case allowed for a kind of concentration and single-minded focus that John had never witnessed before.

Sherlock’s ability to hone in on the case, and only the case, was a marvel, but when it came to the safety of himself and his transport, he was a lacking.

The murderer was waiting around the corner for the lanky detective to come near enough, stepping into John’s line of vision about twenty meters away and facing Sherlock. With a twisted smile at the army doctor, he pulled out a revolver, leveling it at Sherlock with a steady arm in the next moment.

Sherlock, who had gone still with shock and trepidation, holding his hands up in a placating manner, which was belayed by their shaking. He hadn’t realized the murder was still armed. Mistake. Potentially a fatal one.

Meanwhile, John’s vision went hazy with the focus of an army captain and a doctor accustomed to critical trauma, focusing in on the murder and only him.

_Breathe in, out, in, out._

Pulling out his illegal handgun from the back of his pants and aiming, John fired in the next instant before the murder even had time to register John’s action or release the safety on his own weapon.

A loud **bang** echoed through the alley way, and then there was silence, the only movement the slight smoking from John's gun. 

The pale haired murderer fell to the ground, blood leaking from the bullet hole in his forehead, his eyes glassy and empty.

Sherlock watched the man fall with a quaking body and shuttered eyes before turning to look at John, who had saved him from his own stupidity yet again. He watched to John with a lost expression, his graceful arms limp at his sides, the trembling look on his face sending John running.

Sherlock collapsed in his arms as soon as he was near enough, and tears began to soak through John’s shirt in the next instant from the adrenaline and fear warring in Sherlock’s overworked mind.

“I don’t want to die. I don’t _want_ to die. John, please. I don’t.”

Sherlock continued muttering over and over, his mind a jumble of contradicting thoughts, and John’s heart ached for his fragile detective and how frightened he seemed to be from this latest brush with death. This was different from their case “A Study in Pink” somehow.

Sherlock was more afraid now than John had ever seen him.

And while John’s heart ached for the fearful tears and sobs echoing from his lover, he also realized that Sherlock now valued his own life.

He didn’t want to die. No, he wanted to live. With John.

In the next instant, Lestrade pulled up in a police car with an ambulance trailing him.

“Sherlock, what do you think you’re doing running off like that?” Lestrade scolded him like he would a child, sounding to be at the end of his rope with the consulting detective, until Sherlock looked up at him from his hiding place of John’s neck; his face wet with tears and his eyes still glistening, fear etched into his youthful face.

“No one was hurt, Lestrade, but the murder pulled a gun, so I acted in self defense,” John addressed the DI with a hard gaze, and after a moment of sizing each other up, Lestrade conceded with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his tired, lined face and motioning for them both to leave.

“I’ll need your statements tomorrow, come by the station after ten in the morning. You two get some rest. Especially you Sherlock,” Lestrade said softly, as if to not further distress the detective, and Sherlock nodded in response. 

“Come on love, it’s time to go home.” John led Sherlock towards the main street, clutching his hand. Sherlock held tightly like a life-line, and John squeezed his hand in reassurance.

Once they were settled in the cab, Sherlock pressed his cold nose against John’s neck, breathing him in and feeling safe as John wrapped his strong arms around him. 

While Sherlock nuzzled into him, timidly placing a wet kiss against the side of John's neck, John looked out the window and suppressed a sigh, holding his infernal lover and contemplating his options. 

Sherlock may now value his life, but his impulsive decision today only proved how much the young man needed to learn about safety and internal control.

John nodded to himself as he clutched his detective closer, leaning down to place a kiss on his recalcitrant curls; a lesson was in order.

John could try to pretend that the idea of punishing Sherlock didn’t send a spark of desire straight to his groin, but he would by lying. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from the chase and taking down a threat to his love; it was bringing out the deepest possessiveness of John’s nature.

And Sherlock was his. His to love, tend to, care for. And he had nearly died today.

Never again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spanking, more orgasms :)

John roused Sherlock from his hiding place under John’s head once they reached Baker Street. John paid the cabbie and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, leading him to the front door and unlocking it swiftly, his mind completely in the zone.

Sherlock followed tentatively behind, not entirely sure what to make of John’s uncharacteristic silence. He followed John up the steps to 221B and walked to stand in the center of the living room, watching as John peered out the window, his back military straight and tensing his shoulders. His blonde-silver hair shone lightly in the dimming daylight, and Sherlock asserted no man had ever looked as handsome as John Watson.

As Sherlock was lost in his musings, the older man turned to look at him for the first time since they left the crime scene. Sherlock gasped at the hardness reflected in those blue eyes, normally so soft. He shivered in expectation of what was to come, despite the fact he was completely out of his depth.

“Kneel.”

Sherlock’s knees hit the floor before the command was completely uttered, and he stared at John with eyes widened in shock. How did he…..?

“Stop thinking, Sherlock.” John said in his normal tone, as if he was asking Sherlock if he wanted a cup of tea, and Sherlock’s mind whirled in confusion.

“But-“

“No talking. If you need something, you will say one of your colors, and we will slow down or stop. Regardless of that, I don’t want you to talk,” John commanded lowly, steel in his tone, and Sherlock bowed his head without conscious thought to look away from John’s hardened gaze, unused to so much ire from John.

“Good boy,” John whispered, striding forward to tangle his fingers in Sherlock’s curls gently, and Sherlock pressed up into his hand, feeling warmth spread throughout his body at the touch and his kneeling position. John walked behind Sherlock, reaching down to pull off his coat and suit jacket, running his hands down Sherlock sinewy arms and smirking slightly at his shiver.

Sensitive.

“Your submission is a gift, Sherlock, do not doubt it,” John instructed, continuing to pet Sherlock’s curls, “you, a man who kneels to no one, kneels for me.”

Sherlock let out a whine at that, leaning forward on his knees to initiate more contact, needed to feel John after his frightening encounter, but John pulled away, standing a few feet from Sherlock with a set expression on his face.

“Stand up,” John commanded, and Sherlock did, tilting slightly at the vertigo but righting himself after a moment.

John walked slowly forward, predatorily, and Sherlock felt a throbbing in his groin at the look. John reached forward and, in a swift movement, unbuckled Sherlock’s trousers and shoved them down, grabbing him and walking him over to the couch in only his tight blank pants and white button down.

He upturned Sherlock as he sat down, forcing the younger man over his lap in the next moment, Sherlock’s head resting on the couch and his legs dangled to the side of John’s lap limply.

Sherlock laid in confusion for a moment at the odd position, before understanding flooded his features and his heart dropped like a stone into his stomach.

“ _John!”_ Sherlock cried, beginning to thrash to escape John’s grip, but it was too late.

John reached down to flip Sherlock’s dress shirt over his sweet, upturned bum, and began in earnest.

_Smack, smack, smack_

John began to spank Sherlock’s lofted arse with a brunt force that caused Sherlock to cry out immediately from the stinging echoing from his backside. A rapid blush rising to his face as he tried to hide in the couch cushions to muffle his cries. The spanks raining down on all sides of his arse, leaving no part untouched.

_Spank, spank, smack_

“You know you deserve this Sherlock,” John stated calmly, still rhythmically swinging his right arm down onto Sherlock’s plump arse, watching in wicked amusement as the cheeks jiggled and jumped with each movement.

Sherlock might be skinny, but all his fat content went to his delicious backside.

After a moment, Sherlock went limp in John’s grasp, winching with every strike but knowing, deep in his heart, that he needed John to punish him.

_Smack, smack, smack_

The sounds reverberated off the walls of their sitting room, and Sherlock prayed to a deity he didn’t believe in that John had at least locked the door. He wouldn't be able to within stand it if Mrs. Hudson or worse, _his brother_ , were to walk in right now.

Seeing Sherlock being spanked like a recalcitrant child, crying out for John to stop.

“Hmmm. Let’s see if your arse matches the blush on that lovely face,” John said with a smirk in his voice, gazing fondly at the red he could see from Sherlock’s slightly hidden face, reaching up to grasp the back of Sherlock’s pants and tugging them down, keeping a tight hold on Sherlock’s hip in the process.

“John, _nooo_ -“ Sherlock pleaded, his face absolutely scarlet at the notion that John was staring at his plump and tender backside, enflamed from the spanking, and raised in the air like a child’s after lying to their mother.

“Lovely,” John whispered, stroking over the rosy cheeks, dipping just inside the crevice and finding Sherlock’s rosebud.

A truly naughty idea came to mind, and John smile grew.

“Sherlock, reach your hands back,” John instructed, and Sherlock obeyed with a questioning look on his face, before John took his hands and placed them on this own backside.

“Open yourself for me,” John growled, and Sherlock paused in mortification.

John wants him to…. _oh, god_.

Closing his eyes, and biting his plush lower lip, Sherlock spread his hands, biting into the tender flesh of his well-spanked arse with a whine and exposing himself for John to see.

Sherlock’s cock, which had gone flaccid during his punishment, began to harden against John’s thigh, and he whimpered at the confusing sensations.

John watched the winking pucker for a moment before raising his hand and smacking down on the sensitive entrance with a sweet _smack,_ smiling at Sherlock’s renewed writhing to escape, causing his arse to appear even more inviting to the disciplinary doctor.

“JOHN- oh, god-it hurts please!” Sherlock begged as he writhed on John’s lap, but John continued raining down spanks on the pinking hole with a wicked smile on his face. Sherlock grasped his arse cheeks and bit his lips, willing himself to continue holding himself open against the onslaught, despite the humiliation of participating so obviously in his punishment.

_“Ohhhhhhh- ahh- please no more”_

To lie there and accept a spanking passively he could attribute to the stressful day, but this, holding himself open for John’s ravenous gaze and wicked hand to punish him, it was confirming Sherlock’s complete trust in John.

And it was frightening, but Sherlock couldn’t focus on that now, couldn’t focus at all, not with pulsing sensations running up his spine with every smack to his pucker.

If John would only dip his fingers _inside_.

He began to grind his erection on John’s clothed thigh, and John looked down at Sherlock with a twinkle in his eye, realizing that Sherlock was not as averse to the spanking as he seemed through his moaning complaints.

John watched him wiggle for a moment, softening his blows to the hole into small taps, his fingers tickling lightly against the hole and watching as shivers erupted over Sherlock’s muscled back at the action.

Although Sherlock may not deserve to receive pleasure from his punishment, John decided that, just this once, he would show mercy to the flustered detective who was taking his punishment so well.

He dipped his fingers inside, just a bit, since he was without lube, and Sherlock thrust once more and came with a cry, coating John’s pant leg with his release.

Allowing him to lie there for a moment as he calmed down, and stroking over the rosy cheeks, John picked up the detective.

He settled his backside on his lap and chuckled lightly at Sherlock little whimper of pain, his shirt covering his bits. Somehow Sherlock half clothed, sitting in John's lap freshly spanked was unbearably erotic, and John had to take a few deep breathes to calm his roaring arousal. 

“Why did you get a spanking, Sherlock?” John asked seriously after allowing a moment for Sherlock to settle, and Sherlock’s face, which had faded slightly, its scarlet hue dimming after his pleasurable release, enflamed anew at the fact they were going to talk about his punishment.

Sherlock tried to hide his face, but John laughed and grasped Sherlock’s chin, forcing him to look up at John with his glistening eyes and red cheeks on display, his embarrassment warring with contentment.

“B-Because I ran off without you,” Sherlock mumbled, looking down and avoiding John’s gaze, which received a fond eye roll from John.

“Yes, and you almost got yourself killed. You wont be doing that again, will you?” John asked, and Sherlock paused before shaking his head negatively. John smiled, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Good, because next time, I will pull down your pants and spank you for all of Scotland Yard to see,” John whispered teasingly, and Sherlock’s face grew mortified, meeting John’s eyes with his own in shocked horror.

“No! You wouldn’t” he exclaimed, and John reached on hand up to stroke down his back in a soothing manner.

“Of course not, I would never undermine you where you work,” John reassured, “but know that the next time, you will not get release. I will simply spank your _chubby bum raw_ and then make you stand in the corner with your glowing backside on display while I watch some telly.”

Sherlock gulped in fear at the idea, and ignored the arousal pooling in his belly. John smiled knowingly, as if he could sense Sherlock’s contradicting feelings of pleasure and embarrassment, and finally allowed him to collapse into John.

Sherlock sighed and cuddled closer, the two men feeling much calmer.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright- nipple clamps, coming untouched, and fluff.  
> And something special at the end.

John and Sherlock cleaned up from their adventure in the living room, and Sherlock redressed swiftly, coughing lightly at John’s quirked eyebrow and walking over to his violin, picking it up and beginning to play. He didn’t want to sit on his tender backside quite yet.

Sherlock began to play a sad tune, the events of the day catching up to him, and despite John cuddling and caring for him on the couch, he still felt a little unwound.

John sat in his armchair and watched his love standing by the window with his beautiful instrument in the twilight, his eyes shining as he listened to Sherlock pour out his frustrations and lingering, fading fear into his music, the melody soothing John’s soul.

Without really thinking about it- John reached for his phone and took a picture of Sherlock- his curls mussed from his punishment and his shirt and trousers unusually unkempt from where they had been ruffled during their skirmish.

John peered down at his phone, and the picture of Sherlock shining back at him. With a smile, he set it as his background and set his phone on the arm of his chair, watching Sherlock for another moment before standing up.

Sherlock ended his music and turned around just in time to see John stretching his arms above his head, a sliver of his hard stomach showing and his army, still fit from his regular exercise as Sherlock’s assistant, flexing behind the deceptive, oversized jumper he wore.

Sherlock bit his lip and looked at John shyly, still feeling vulnerable from his and John’s swift relationship change from flat mates and friends to lovers in a distinctively kinky physical relationship.

And to think, he was technically still a virgin.

Sherlock grimaced at the thought, and the reminder of how large John’s cock had seemed last night and this morning. Even flaccid, John had nothing to be ashamed of.

Sherlock smiled in amusement _, at least now I know why he walks with such a wide gait,_ he thought.

“What’re you smiling about, love?” John asked with a yawn, his nose crinkling sweetly, and Sherlock watched him with a dazed look.

“You.” Sherlock answered, gently setting down his violin and bow on the desk and walking towards John, leaning down at the same time John leaned up, their lips meeting in a synchronized kiss; moving gently against one another like whispers being traded back and forth.

_I love you- kiss._

_Don’t leave me- peck._

_You’re beautiful- nip._

They kissed sweetly for a moment more, before John began to trace Sherlock’s lower lip, seeking entrance. And Sherlock, realizing he never wanted to deny John, happily opened his mouth, allowing John to lick inside the warm wetness there, sliding alongside his tongue.

Sherlock, learning John’s preferred techniques, began to tilt his head down further, allowing John more access, lightly bumping their noses together.

“Mmhmm,” John groaned into his mouth, and Sherlock felt a stirring in his rapidly beating heart at giving John pleasure.

Sherlock’s mind settled from the tender, heated kisses they were sharing, but his breathing was beginning to become labored.

He didn’t want to break away. He wanted to consume John, crawl inside of him and never leave his heart, be protected and protect him, every day, forever.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered, and felt John’s answering smile against his lips.

“And I, you sweetheart,” John answered with a final peck, the two men resting their forehead’s together in the silence of the flat, the only sounds emanated from the bustling city of London just outside their window.

John pulled away, beginning to walk towards the kitchen and opening the fridge.

“What should we have for dinner, love?” He asked, and Sherlock flopped down in his chair in annoyance. He didn’t care about something as trivial as _dinner_.

John turned around to look at his detective, who was sulking in his chair as John had stopped kissing him, and John’s heart swelled as he stared at the immature man-child in his living room.

“We are eating dinner whether you like it or not, Sherlock,” John said, ignoring Sherlock’s huff, and went to pick up his phone.

Sherlock watched and, upon seeing himself as the background, snatched the phone out of John’s hand to look at it closely, ignoring John’s annoyed “Oi!”

Looking at the picture, which was actually quite good due to the quality of smartphone cameras, Sherlock’s mind turned with possibilities.

 _I wonder if John would like it_ …. Sherlock wondered, looking up and meeting John’s gaze with his own changeable eyes.

“John, do you want to maybe, take pictures of me,” Sherlock muttered, looking back to the phone with a feigned apathetic tone. John stared at him in confusion, looking between Sherlock and his phone is a crinkle between his eyes, lines deepening the creases in his forehead.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s obliviousness, and screwing up his courage, began unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

John’s eyes widened as more alabaster skin came into view until Sherlock slipped his soft white shirt off his shoulders and threw it carelessly behind his chair.

In his nervousness, a redness was seeping down his chest and his nipples were hardening into pink buds, just begging to be sucked.

And actually, that gave John quite an idea.

“Hold on a moment, Sherlock,” John commanded, and raced up to his bedroom.

I know I have a pair somewhere, John thought as he rifled in his closet, finding an old duffle bag and flicking it open, finding the unopened package he had always wanted to use, but none of his old girlfriends had been up for it.

Sherlock, however….

John walked slowly back down the stairs, trying to contain his excitement as he walked back into the living room, holding the package behind his back.

Sherlock watched in confusion, his mouth turned down slightly, and John bobbed up and down on his feet in anticipation.

“Do you trust me?” He asked after a moment, and Sherlock nodded.

John brought out the package, opening it swiftly to reveal a pair of nipple clamps. Fine and silver, connected by a glittering chain and appearing like a knight’s chainmail from the stories Sherlock often heard about growing up.

Sherlock took a deep breath in and nodded, reaching out to touch the beautiful clamps with a reverent expression, but John drew them away at the last second, smiling at Sherlock’s matching excitement but wanting this moment to last.

With that, John knelt down and started to kiss Sherlock’s chest, deliberately avoiding his nipples, which were fully hard and aching with blood. So much beauty. 

“J-John, John, please,” Sherlock begged, clawing at his back.

“What, darling? What do you need?” John asked between light kisses, the keening in Sherlock’s voice just as sweet as the melodious notes from his violin only moments before.

“Please k-kiss my nipples,” Sherlock whispered into the quiet living room, the only sound his harsh breathing.

John acquiesced with a smile, leaning down to lave over Sherlock’s right nipple tenderly before biting down just so.

“ _Nhhgnn ohhh, John, ahhhh_ ,” Sherlock whimpered incoherently as John began to kiss and sick at his right nipple, his hand coming up to stroke the other, coated in saliva and positively throbbing from John’s attentions.

Sherlock’s trousers were straining from his erection, and John brought his hands down to Sherlock’s trousers, while continuing to worship his chest with kisses and teasing tugs with his teeth.

John quickly unbuttoned his already wrinkled trousers and pulled them down along with his underwear, leaving Sherlock sitting in the chair completely nude, his glistening back rubbing against the leather of his armchair.

John knew he would never again look at that armchair without remembering this moment, Sherlock lost in pleasure, from John teasing his nipples with abandon.

Quickly, without giving himself time to think about it, John brought up the first clamp to Sherlock’s right nipple, pressed it open and then attached it, watching it fall closed and relishing Sherlock’s pained gasp.

“Color, love?” John asked, stroking his hair away from his face and watching his expression for too much pain or stimulation.

"G-Green," Sherlock moaned in response, and with a grin, John attached the opposite clamp to his left nipple, swallowing up his gasping whimper with a kiss. After giving him a moment to adjust, John looked down and stepped away, gazing at the erotic sight in front of him and trying to remember how to breathe.

There Sherlock sat in his armchair, his nipples clamped like a wanton slut, moaning for it with his head thrown back as he began to reach a hand down to stroke his own cock.

“Don’t touch yourself,” John ordered, and Sherlock groaned in annoyance but obeyed, moving his hands to clenched at the arms of the chair and trying not to put too much pressure on his still stinging arse.

John pulled out his camera phone and looked to Sherlock once more for permission, watching the curly haired man nod vigorously, John took a picture of Sherlock with his eyes fluttering in pleasure, his cock leaking against his hard stomach and his curls fluffed out from his head, reminiscent of a halo.

Looking at the pornographic photo for a moment longer, John looked back to meet eyes with his lover, who was begging to have his release.

With a smirk, John paced forward.

“I’m not going to touch you Sherlock, and you’re not to touch yourself,” he said softly, adoring the confused crinkle between Sherlock’s brow before continuing.

“You’re going to come,” John promised, leaning in to ghost his breath over Sherlock’s ear where he sat panting, “from my voice alone.”

“Oh, J-John please,” Sherlock begged, but John would have none of it, standing up and circling the chair like a lion circles its prey, his eye glittering with dark promise.

“Look at you, Sherlock, letting me put nipple clamps on you, like a slut,” he said lowly, but not harshly, watching Sherlock’s reactions to ensure he didn’t go too far into their passion play.

But Sherlock let out another drop of precome from the pronouncement, his face turning rosy at the insinuation and his dirty response.

“You’re my naughty little boy, aren't you Sherlock?” John continued in a conversationalist manner, continuing to pace around Sherlock and refusing to touch him, despite the green-blue eyes that were following his every movement, fluttering at his words.

“Only a naughty boy is spanked over someone’s knee,” John hedged, not wanted to scare Sherlock but having a sneaking suspicion that where he was going with this would not be unwelcome.

Sherlock blushed anew, squirming in his chair at the reminder of his currently red bottom, “John-“

“That’s right, you had to have your naughty bottom spanked, and next time, I am going to put a cock ring on you and you’ll not come, but I will,” John leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I am going to fuck you with a cock ring on, so hard, and you’ll be moaning and writhing around on my prick, but I won’t let you escape it. Afterwards, you will feel my come leaking out of your pink, puffy rosebud for _days_. I am going to stuff you full and then plug you up, refusing your release and marking you as _mine_.”

Sherlock began writhing anew at this, is hips thrusting in the cool air and his eyes fluttering in overwhelming pleasure, his cock leaking continuously now, a waterfall of wetness down his straining manhood.

_“Ohh, John, John, John.”_

“I am going to do all that,” John promised lowly, nipping his ear, “because you will _let_ me. Because you’re my Sherlock, my little one, my lover. And you're such a wanton little whore for my cock, and you haven't even had it yet. Imagine what a lush you will become. I could leave you tied up on the bed, begging for me to enter you three, four times a day.”

_"Ahhhhh, please, yes."_

John went in for the finale, clenching his fists to keep from touching himself at the arousing sight of Sherlock about to come into the air with no tactile stimulation and walking to the front of Sherlock’s chair.

Crouching down and leaning in, John watched in fascination, adoring the sight of his spreading blush and the untouched nipple clamps marking him as John’s.

“And I’ve never enjoyed wrecking someone the way I enjoy it with you, tanning your bum over my lap, teasing you for my own amusement,” John licked up his earlobe, feeling his trembling body.

“So what do you say, Sherlock? I promise to fuck you, fill you, adore you, _unwind you_. What do you call the man who controls your pleasure, your body, your heart?” John growled, and finally, _finally_ , Sherlock’s cock released a flood of wetness over his abdomen as he cried out, all of his words jumbled and incomprehensible, except for one.

“ _D-Daddy!”_

John smiled. Victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarsypants-blog on tumblr drew a rendition of nipple-clamp's on Sherlock. Check out her blog or click here to see: 
> 
> <http://sarsypants-blog.tumblr.com/post/157752950734/nipple-clamp-sherlock-from-this-fic>  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John provides some fluffy aftercare. Blowjobs.

John smiled at him, his eyes gleaming, and he leaned forward to kiss Sherlock languidly, sending a shockwave up his spine.

Leaning a hand forward, he released the right clamp, quickly leaning down to latch onto the abused nipple and sucking it gently to sooth the lingering pinch.

John did the same with Sherlock’s other nipple after a moment, his eyes crinkling delightedly at Sherlock’s sigh of contentment, leaning deeper into his armchair and sprawling there, nude and covered in his own release.

“Come on Sherlock, follow me,” John called after Sherlock had worn down from his pleasure induced detective, and his breathing had slowed to a more even pace.

Sherlock stood up after a moment on wobbly legs, righting himself and following John into the bathroom. Sherlock watched as John started the water to the bathtub, and then ruffled around the bathroom cupboard for a moment.

“Aha! Here it is,” he declared, lifting up a lavender bubble bath to show Sherlock, who merely watched in amazed silence as John poured the sweet, clean smelling bath soap into the hot water, shutting off the taps and beginning to undress.

Once he was undressed, Sherlock was able to see John’s entire form, unobstructed, in the bright, bathroom lighting.

He was so perfect; littered with small scars- _had appendix out, gunshot wound, fell off his bike as a child, slight acne scars on his cheeks_ \- and Sherlock slightly overwhelmed by the amount of deductions about John’s tanned, muscled, and imperfectly perfect body.

John allowed him to observe him for a moment, standing with his back straight and utterly self conscious, his ego somewhat boosted by Sherlock’s widening eyes, his pouting mouth dropping open into an “o’ of desire.

John stepped into the bath, and Sherlock watched as his muscled back and firm arse disappeared under the fluffy foam and the steam rising languorously out of their bath.

John sighed, leaning back and throwing his arms over the sides of the tub, closing his eyes in blissful satisfaction as his muscles relaxed.

Sherlock stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do, until John opened his eyes slightly, and nodded him over.

“C’mere love.”

Sherlock stepped shyly into the tub, settling down between John’s legs and pressing his back against John’s chest, but not before giving John a enticing view of his red bum.

“Hmm,” John hummed, bringing his arms around Sherlock’s torso and pressing him back, every inch of their skin touching.

Sherlock felt the haziness that had settled over the world since his punishment, the slightly confusing, single-minded focus of _John_ , fading away.

“Shh, good boy, come back to me,” John called him back to reality, kissing lightly on his earlobe.

Suddenly Sherlock was lying against John, with his arms strong arms surrounding him, and he was utterly aware of the world with his usual laser sharp focus.

_The bathwater was 99.1 degrees Fahrenheit, there was a child crying for his mother just outside Speedy’s downstairs, and John’s pulse was beating 73 bpm, a bit high for his usual pulse of 65._

Sherlock breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling easily, his mind clearer than it had been in ages.

He felt like he could run across London, solving every murder case in his wake in only moments. This singular focus, which he had only actively achieved the one time in college he had tried cocaine, was remarkable.

“John, I-I feel-“

“Clear, like your mind is focused and relaxed at the same time, I know,” John said with a smile evident in his voice, and Sherlock turned around slightly to gaze at John in confusion.

“How do you know?” Sherlock asked, confused at John’s rare insightfulness.

The doctor smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss on the corner of Sherlock’s kiss-bruised lips, “you are coming out of sub-space love. It’s the mindset you had when you were submitting to me,” John explained kindly, and Sherlock scoffed.

“That’s impossible, I wasn’t in some altered state of…. _Oh_.” Sherlock trailed off, his face rosy from more than the heated bath as he remembered what he had called John during his orgasm.

How had he forgotten? Perhaps John was right, with the sensations his mind was completely turned off, the dirty words John was purring in his ear echoing in his pleasure swarmed mind. Still, how had he not known?

“You _knew_? About my…” Sherlock whispered, absolutely mortified, and John chuckled in response, pressing Sherlock’s backside back against his half hard cock and relishing Sherlock’s wiggle when his manhood poked his tender bum.

“I suspected you had a bit of a daddy kink, and trust me, I love it,” John finished for him unselfconsciously, and Sherlock moved to leap from the bath in embarrassment at John _saying the horrible word out loud_ , but John held him fast, the water sloshing around them in gentle waves.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. I meant what I said before; your submission is a gift, Sherlock. All of it,” John reminded him, pressing kisses up and down the sensitive nape of Sherlock’s neck where tiny curls were formed from perspiration.

Sherlock turned to cuddle into John’s neck, his new favorite place, and breathed him in. The rugged smell of lingering arousal, the musk that surrounded John calmed his rapidly beating heart as he took in the smell of gunpowder, sex and a lingering sweetness that reminded Sherlock of John’s obsession with jam.

“I, well, I suppose I view you as older, an authority figure. I’ve never done any of this before, after all,” Sherlock said bashfully, and John’s tender smile grew wicked.

“You do, eh? Well, how about you let _daddy_ wash you clean,” John teased, and felt an immediate blushing heat against his collarbone where Sherlock’s cheek rested.

John reached for the washcloth and ran it soothingly across Sherlock’s chest and up to his chest. He covered it with more soap and washed his arms, tickling under his arms lightly and receiving a giggle for his attentions. He leaned down to swipe over Sherlock’s fully spent cock, cradling his soft member gently so as not to hurt Sherlock, and then moving down with the washcloth the wash gently between his cheeks.

John’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he pressed just a bit and Sherlock’s opened, the softly bristled washcloth being pressed in with John’s finger.

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Sherlock groaned, opening his legs wider in the bath and allowing John entrance. Once John had swiped around teasingly, just barely nudging at Sherlock prostate, he quickly yanked the washcloth out of Sherlock’s sensitive pink hole. The subsequent gasp from Sherlock sounding absolutely lovely to John’s ears.

“There, all clean,” John murmured in the quiet backroom, the only sounds now the two of them sharing breathes back and forth, their chest rising and falling together.

They laid there until the water began to grow tepid, and John nudged Sherlock to stand up, turning on the showerhead and quickly washing the lingering suds off of their bodies.

John watched the white foam fall from Sherlock’s alabaster skin which was held a rosy undertone from the warm bath and intimate discussion, and he felt himself grow hard.

Sherlock watched in fascination, and before John could even mutter a single phrase, Sherlock had dropped to his knees.

John gasped out, the water pelting against his back as Sherlock grasped his penis at the base, and brought his mouth forward. Pecking teasingly at the tip for a moment in sweet, short kisses, he began to draw the length slowly, carefully, into his mouth.

“G-Good boy, love, _oh_ -“ John gasped, running his fingers through Sherlock’s wet curls, scratching lightly at his head while Sherlock gave him the most inexperienced, sweet and pleasurable head he had ever received.

He was suckling on the head, running his hand up and down the length and brushing his tongue just inside the slit that was leaking white precome into Sherlock’s mouth.

John had been unbearably hard when he was spanking Sherlock earlier that day, and with the nipple clamps and dirty talk following, he knew he wouldn’t last long now, his need for Sherlock rising ever higher.

Especially with Sherlock looking up at him, his cupid’s bow lips stretched around John’s cock in a heart shape, his eyes wide and willing to please with a rosy hue to his young, rounded cheeks.

After just a few more moments of suckling from that wet heat, John came with a cry, “S-Sherlock, _ohhh_ , yes.”

Sherlock greedily lapped it up, swallowing it down as quickly as he could. John grasped onto Sherlock’s head like a lifeline, his head tilting back in a satisfied groan of release, his abdomen twitching with waves of release being sucked by Sherlock’s plump mouth.

A few drops escaped out of the side of his pink lip, however, and he continued to stroke John through his orgasm, John’s released dripping lightly from his mouth.

John pulled Sherlock up, and Sherlock licked his lips, capturing John’s lingering release and swallowing it hungrily, peering at John with half-lidded eyes as if he had just received release, and not John.

“I enjoyed that,” he remarked, and John chuckled, pressing his detective closer and kissing him, a smile still stretching his lips as he contemplated his adorable, innocent, and yet somehow obliviously lewd detective.

“Come on Sherlock, the water’s getting cold, we need to get out,” John said, stepping out of the bath and picking up a two large towels, and carrying them into his room, motioning for sherlock to follow. 

The sleepy detective trailed behind, his face stretched in a yawn, and John grinned at the usually manic, unsleeping man being absolutely exhausted. 

Laying the one towel on the bed, he instructed Sherlock to lie down on it. John quickly dried himself off, and then turned to Sherlock lying on the bed, naked and splayed out, trusting John implicitly.

 _Oh, Sherlock, I adore you_ , he thought.

John gently swiped Sherlock off, drying every inch of his sodden flesh, fluffing his curls lightly and scratching behind his ears, causing Sherlock to close his eyes with a groan of happiness at the action.

Then John disposed of the towels in the hamper, he went over to the bed, lifting up the duvet and pulling Sherlock back into his chest once again. The two men falling asleep quickly thereafter, exhausted from the long day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first time: riddled with fluff and love-making. I think I gave myself a cavity this time. Enjoy.

Two days later, John and Sherlock were having a relaxing day around the flat. John was off work from the surgery and Sherlock was solving cold case files Lestrade had dropped off earlier that day to keep him from boredom.

But boredom was the farthest thing from Sherlock’s mind as he watched John read a medical text in his armchair, his hair a shining blonde from the sunlight pouring in the room and his arm muscles flexing with each page he turned.

Sherlock continued to observe John, looking up and down his form appreciatively and getting distracted from his case files every few minutes.

Shaking his head, Sherlock tried to clear his thoughts and focus: _Kathrine Bowler got on a train to Sussex on from Kings Cross Station Feb. 8, 2003- oh, ohhh look at John’s strong arms…._

“Sherlock, stop looking at me like that _unless_ you would like me to do something about it,” John said in his normal, comforting voice, his eyes never leaving the page of his medical text as he reprimanded Sherlock for staring at him lustfully.

Sherlock scowled at being caught and looked away, a bashful light in his eyes as John watched his little one fondly.

Sherlock obviously wanted John to take him, mark him fully, but John was hesitant. Not only was Sherlock a virgin, but John was quite large, and he didn't want to hurt his inexperienced lover. At the same time, John was also quite anxious to take Sherlock to bed properly. To show him how he should be loved and cherished, in the bedroom and always.

John sighed when Sherlock peered up at him again, and stood up. Stretching out his hand, he said, “Come here.”

Sherlock stood immediately, walking over to John and taking his hand, John led them to their bedroom.

Since the first fateful night when John found Sherlock at his bolthole, crying from a breaking heart, John had been waiting for the right time to cement their physical relationship, wanting to give Sherlock time to be comfortable with the idea.

But Sherlock, impatient and impetuous as always, refused to wait any longer, whining in bed the night before that John still wouldn’t take him; so John rolled over and sucked him off, harshly and quickly, sending the moody detective into a pleasurable sleep. John had simply smiled, thanking whatever deity was listening that Sherlock Holmes had an off button.

But now, it seemed, in the harsh light of day, Sherlock refused to be denied any longer.

John drew back the curtains to let in the dim sunlight, wanting to see Sherlock fully, and laid down on the bed.

Reaching hand out, he gently drew Sherlock down to lay beside him, looking into his changeable eyes that were smiling back at John.

The mood in the sunlight bedroom shifted to something sweeter, more delicate, and Sherlock looked away from John, the intensity of his gaze and his own nerves giving him pause.

_Did he truly want this? This moment with John?_

John reached over, tilting Sherlock’s head up and pressing a kiss against his forehead in the same moment. Sherlock closed his eyes, taking in the sensation of complete safety here with John.

_Yes. He was ready._

As if by unspoken mutual decision, both men sat up and began unbuttoning their shirts, turning away from each other and sitting on opposite edges of the bed to take off their trousers, pants, shoes and socks.

They sat that way for a moment in the sun warmed bedroom, their naked backs to one another. After everything else they had done together, this moment shouldn’t feel that much more momentous.

But for some unforeseen reason, it was far more intimate for both of them.

John turned around first, and seeing the tenseness is Sherlock’s back, crawled over to him and began pressing kisses on the side of his neck.

“Shhh, sweetheart, come lie with me,” He whispered, kissing the nape of his neck, and Sherlock nodded silently, some of the tension leaving his lightly muscled shoulders.

Sherlock turned to face John, lying down and their eyes meeting- sky blue and the rolling ocean gazing at one another in silence- until John smiled, leaning forward and capturing Sherlock’s lips in a tender kiss, moving gently across the pink petals and adoring Sherlock’s little giggle when he let out a puff of air, tickling his lips lightly from the vibrations.

John reached over, grabbing the lubricant from the nightstand and dribbling it over Sherlock’s rapidly hardening cock while continuing to kiss him, Sherlock nipping his teeth in punishment while he shivered from the cold lube hitting his sensitive manhood.

John only smiled into the kiss, and reached down to begin stroking Sherlock to hardness. John looked down, a mischievous idea for edging coming to his mind, but Sherlock had to build up his stamina first.

Then, well, then they would have some fun.

That being said, Sherlock did already have a propensity for coming more than once, the cheeky bugger.

With that, John began to stroke harder, latching onto one of Sherlock’s nipples and sucking it while laving his tongue over the hardening nipple in the way he knew Sherlock loved.

After just a few moments, Sherlock was writhing on the sheets with abandon, begging John practically incoherently to “get on with it, John!”

“No,” John answered, kissing down Sherlock’s abdomen and ignoring Sherlock’s huff of annoyance, “We are going to take our time, because it is our first time, and I want it to be special. For both of us,” John explained, and Sherlock watched him closely for a moment before nodding in agreement, his head flopping back on the pillow and motioning for John to carry on.

“Thank you for your permission, highness,” John teased, pinching Sherlock’s sensitive inner thigh and smiling at his yelp of surprise.

John drizzled more lube onto his fingers and reached for Sherlock’s heart shaped arse, indicating for Sherlock to widen his legs, which he did without complaint.

 _Wanton little imp_ , John thought fondly.

Fingering was nothing new for the two men, but John took his time, rubbing and circling one, two, _three_ fingers in Sherlock’s gently opening entrance, the muscle giving way for John to tease at Sherlock sensitive rim and swelling prostate.

“ _Ohh, John p-please_ ,” Sherlock begged as John began to stroke around Sherlock’s prostate in deft movements, his cock flushed a deep pink against his heaving abdomen, his dark chestnut curls falling around the pillow like a fallen renaissance angel.

John rolled his eyes fondly, caving in the face of Sherlock’s sweet begging, and kissing back up from whence he came. Pecking kisses, tonguing lightly to taste the glistening sweat now covering Sherlock untried body.

John reached over to grab a condom, rolling it on his pulsing cock while Sherlock was distracted by his fingers and observing the adorable man with a look of awe.

How Sherlock had never had sex in his twenty five years, John had no idea, but he could admit that he felt unaccountably blessed that he would be the only one to know Sherlock in this way, teach and adore him the way he deserved.

John felt a slight stinging behind his eyes at what Sherlock was entrusting him with, but he blinked them away, focusing on the younger man wiggling underneath him in impatient arousal.

Rolling over, John lined his cock up with Sherlock hole, nudging at it lightly; his lubricated head meeting with Sherlock wet, slightly opened entrance, the two slick entities rubbing against one another.

“ _Ahhhh_ ,” Sherlock gasped, realizing John’s cock would feel quite different from his dildos or anal beads. He could already feel the warmth from John’s manhood indicating that he was alive, real, and wanting Sherlock.

Passion. Desire. All for him.

With that, Sherlock lifted his long legs around the small of John’s back and nudged him forward, the tip slipping in just slightly, and Sherlock groaned from the slight burn and the feeling of having something inside his aching opening.

_“Yes!”_

John glared at him briefly for his attempt to control the situation, “If you do that again, I have no qualms about tying you up and taking you slowly, for hours, and not granting you any release. Is that what you want?” John asked sternly, and Sherlock shook his head, his eyes pleading for John to take mercy.

“We will go slowly,” John whispered, as if to himself, as the wet heat clenching around the tip of his cock was teasing him to the threads of his control.

John pushed in, his seemingly inexorable length filling Sherlock, who gasped at the girth entering his virginal body. After a few inches, he gasped in pain, shutting his eyes, and John stopped moving immediately.

“Color, love,” he commanded, and Sherlock took a few heaving breaths, trying to control the stinging and burning from the wideness trying to enter his body.

John was larger than he realized, he felt absolutely enormous inside of the detective, and he was only in few inches. It was how wide he was, the width increasing the stretch.

“Y-yellow, I’m sorry,” Sherlock panted out, scrabbling his hands over John’s biceps to hold on, clenching his eyes shut and trying to control his transport, his arse tensing, trying to push out the foreign, painful manhood against Sherlock's will. 

“Shhh, shhhh, darling, that is what we have those colors for,” John soothed, continuing to hold himself up with on arm but bringing the other up to wide the sweat soaked curls from his forehead, kissing him lightly there, and on his nose.

“Breathe, and try to relax, it will make the sensations less painful,” John whispered into the sunny bedroom, and Sherlock nodded in agreement, taking a panting breathe and focusing on his muscles, loosening them one by one.

Finally, Sherlock released a final shaking breath, relaxing back onto the bed and gazing up at John with bashful eyes, and blushing cheeks, biting the side of his plump lip in self-consciousness, feeling more exposed than he had remembered ever being before, the pulsing length inside of him, filling him, laying him out for John to see every last inch of him. To know him, in every way. 

“Green now, you can m-move,” Sherlock hitched slightly, the pain having mainly receded, but his cheeks were still rosy from embarrassment. What John must think of him, unable to even take his entire cock…

“Enough of those thoughts, now,” John reprimanded lightly, stroking Sherlock’s face and watching him nuzzle into his roughened palm, “it’s just you and me, don’t hide from me love.”

Sherlock gulped and nodded, looking back into John’s pale eyes with a tentative nod, and John reached to put more lube on his cock, then pushed slowly, torturously slow, until he was around six inches into his detective and just over halfway.

The sensations were driving John to distraction, but he clenched his thigh muscles to keep from moving further, sensing he was at Sherlock’s limit by the pleasure warring with pain in his stormy eyes, his cock having softened slightly.

Sherlock squirmed on John’s cock, his eager arse trying to clench and swallow more of the impressive length down, but John held his hips fast, allowing only about half of his cock to be sheathed in that tight, wet warmth that caught his blood on fire.

The spirited detective would not be dissuaded, trying to move his hips down further despite the burning sensation, but his strong-willed lover held his hips fast, looking down with a warning glimmering in his hardening eyes.

 _Don’t make me ruin this moment to punish you, love, because I will,_ the look said, and Sherlock gulped and nodded in agreement.

 _Good,_ John thought with a little smirk, and he held them still for a moment longer.

Their chests were meeting as they breathed together, nipples brushing and their already glistening bodies rubbing against one another; the intensity of the moment weighting on both their hearts as they were connected in the most intimate of acts.

Sherlock breathed in John’s scent: gun-powder, musk and jam, so contradictory an yet, so John, and Sherlock felt his arousal fully hardening once again.

“I love you” Sherlock breathed out, the pain fading lightly as he felt the pulsations from John’s cock melding into his own bodily responses, shivers racking up and down his spine from the impressive length splitting him open.

John looked down at him, cradling his back gently with rugged hands as he began to rock slowly, slowly, in and out of Sherlock’s body, careful to not press anymore than half of his length in his inexperienced lover’s arse.

John was feeling somewhat boastful that he was too large for Sherlock to take fully his first time, but he pushed the wicked thought away, his mind swimming with images of Sherlock.

_Sherlock playing his violin, shooting the wall when he was bored, experimenting with his ridiculous safety-goggles covering his eyes that John insisted he wear._

More recent images: _Sherlock’s expression of wonder after they kissed for the first time, Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt with an excited expression of new found intimacy, Sherlock experiencing an orgasm, his head thrown back and his velvety voice echoing._

The fervent emotions John held for his young lover were glistening in his softening eyes, expressed in his powerful thrusts and rocks into Sherlock’s vulnerable flesh.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John whispered ardently, his hips rolling in complete motions, displaying his self control while Sherlock writhes on the sheets beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations and meet them at the same time.

Sherlock, overwhelmed by John’s soft rocking, the two of them making love in the sun lit bedroom, felt a stinging in the back of his eyes that would not be denied.

John watched in amazement as Sherlock’s eyes began to pool with wetness, the tears of sentiment and pleasure meshing together in harmony and rolling down his hot cheeks.

 _“J-John,”_ he cried, tears flowing quickly now down his cheeks as he held onto John’s back, his hands grasping at him for dear life in a desperate prayer to not let go.

John smiled, his heart aching at the sweetness of Sherlock at his most exposed, and he leaned up to wipe the teardrops from Sherlock’s face, all the while gazing at him as if he was everything while continuing to make love to him, nudging against his prostate in a rhythmic motion and trying to stem the stinging in the back of his own eyes.

“Sweetheart, oh my beautiful boy. I’m right here, Sherlock,” John whispered, as Sherlock’s pliant body moved with his, their pleasure building incrementally, so softly, as they traded kisses and sentiments back and forth.

“J-John, I’m close,” Sherlock breathed, and John nodded, aiming to rub directly into Sherlock’s prostate.

The two men came with a cry moments later, moaning out each other’s names in the delicious pleasure that was overtaking their emotional, overwrought bodies, their releases causing the two men to collapse together shortly afterwards.

John rolled off of Sherlock and disposed of the condom, wiping them both off gently, and then laid back down, gathering the still panting detective up in his arms, their legs winding together, the bedroom still lingering with the smell of sex and arousal in the air as their heartbeats slowed.

“I-I never knew, it could be like that,” Sherlock admitted in the safety of John’s arms afterwards, and John nodded in agreement, running his hands soothingly up and down Sherlock's back.

“I’ve never felt anything that powerful. But, I’ve also never made love to someone,” John admitted, and felt Sherlock stiffen in his arms.

“So…. It’s true? I mean, you do love me?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, and John found himself mentally raging against people like Donovan and Anderson who made Sherlock feel like an unlovable freak.

Pushing those thoughts away, he leaned down to placed a kiss on Sherlock’s head and pressed their naked, cooling bodies together as if to remind Sherlock of all they had just shared.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I never will,” John said simply, and felt a few droplets of lingering tears hit his chest where Sherlock was resting his head.

John stroked through his mussed curls, knowing how overwhelming someone’s first time could be, and simply laid with Sherlock, caring for him with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings.

Like any first time, it wasn’t perfect. But for the two men lying in each other’s arms, warm and happy, the moment couldn’t be ruined by an idea as trivial as perfect.

After all, it was Sherlock and John. All they ever needed was one another: Sherlock and his conductor of light. John and his young lover. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimming, blowjobs, coming twice with no refractory period <3 Comments/kudos appreciated.

The next morning, Sherlock woke up slowly, yawning from the unusually restful sleep. He was lying on his stomach, and he felt warmth all over, specifically coming from his well-used, slightly aching bum.

Last night, with John, Sherlock remembered, smiling a besotted grin into his pillow and releasing a contented little hum of pleasure, butterflies erupting in his stomach. John had been so tender, so careful with him. Sherlock had never felt so vulnerable, and yet safe at the same time. A juxtaposition of sentiment. 

He wiggled gently, settling back down to laze about some more, wondering where John had gone off to but deciding sleep was more imperative. _Hmmmm_.

John had a different idea. He had briefly gotten out of bed to use the bathroom, and was leaning against the doorway, watching Sherlock with a wicked smirk on his face as the young man settled back down to sleep. The covers kicked off his body, leaving him completely, deliciously bare.

 _Yes_ , John purred to himself in satisfaction, pulling out his phone from where he had left it the night before on the kitchen table and snapping a picture of the sleeping, bare as a newborn Sherlock.

Smirking down at the picture for a moment, he set it as his screen background, knowing no one would see it but himself as it was passcode protected.

Tossing the phone on the nightstand, he continued to observe his young lover in his sleeping state, remembering fondly the night before; Sherlock writhing beneath him, sheathed on half of his prick as he cried from sentiment and the overwhelming sensations, John’s thrust’s sure and as deep as he was able to go.

The temptation of Sherlock, innocently resting on the bed, his arse taunting John with its blatant invitation, was simply too much for John.

He stalked over, eyeing Sherlock’s pink backside and licking his lips, his cock jutting from his groin in anticipation.

Just a little taste.

Gently leaning down on the bed, so as not to jostle his dozing lover who was breathing deeply, on the crevice between asleep and awake. John settled between Sherlock’s sprawled legs and took in his plump backside, perfectly round and heart shaped where it jutted from his otherwise lithe, and lightly muscled body.

His arse was made for sin, and John was determined to see to it, reaching forward with twinkling eyes to grasp the soft mound of flesh between two rugged palms and kneading it gently, waking Sherlock up with his naughty massage.

Leaning forward, John began to place tantalizing kisses on Sherlock’s no-longer innocent arse, tonguing lightly on the rosy cheeks and beginning to venture nearer, closer to the crevice where Sherlock’s prize laid.

Sherlock shuttered as he woke fully, confused for a moment, just as John spread his cheeks and began kissing just over his sensitive rim, soothing away the lingering ache from last night’s activities.

 _"Ohhh, what're you....?"_ Sherlock asked breathlessly, his mind slow from sleep, but John continued to lick and kiss at the sweet opening. 

John’s cock was throbbing, hot and needy against the bed sheets beneath him, but he felt a craving for a taste of the arse he had taken so thoroughly the night before.

He latched his lips around the pink hole, suckling gently and tonguing just inside, holding Sherlock by his hips so he couldn’t escape. The pink entrance was clenching around his tongue, but was opening easily, and John smiled against Sherlock’s alluring pucker.

His plush arsecheeks were resting against John morning stubble, and it scratched tantalizingly against Sherlock sensitive, alabaster skin.

Sherlock’s arousal was pulsing, and he tried to rub against the mattress beneath him to relieve the ache reaching from his tongue plundered arse to his cock, but John held him still.

“Shh, love, just let me give you a kiss,” He said innocently, reaching down to peck once, twice, a half a dozen times against Sherlock’s clenching pucker, and Sherlock thrust his hips back, wiggling his arse as much as he could in John’s hold.

“J-John please- please-“ he whimpered, biting his lips to try and stem the moans falling from his plush mouth, but John would have none of it. Biting on one fleshy cheek, John reprimanded Sherlock.

“Don’t muffle yourself, sweetheart, let me hear you. The moans you make are so adorable,” he said with a smirk in his voice, and Sherlock blushed as his heart skipped a beat at being called endearments, equal parts mortified and pleased.

Sherlock buried his face further in the pillow for a moment until John spanked his right arse cheek with a sharp smack, and he tilted his head to the side in submission, releasing a whimper as John leant down again and settled his head between Sherlock’s legs as if it was his dearest place.

Lick, suck, kiss, lick in, _in, in, up..._

“Ohhhh, ngghh, _JOHN_ ,” Sherlock whined out, his orgasm flowing through his body in vibrating waves, and John thrust his tongue into the quivering entrance as deep as it was able, nudging just beneath Sherlock’s prostate and drawing out his sweet sighs.

With that, John flipped Sherlock over, the man pliant against John’s wishes, and John’s eyes widened as he took in the sight beneath him as Sherlock came down from his orgasm.

Sherlock was…. He was _still hard_.

Oh… Oh yes.

John leaned his head down and placed Sherlock’s leaking head into his mouth, cucking down more of his length as Sherlock writhed in surprise, pushing John’s head away.

“J-John I can’t- _ahhhh- John!”_ Sherlock breathed out, his chest heaving as he built back to another release due to John wickedly talented mouth, his tongue swirling around Sherlock’s slit, gathering the precome that gathered there and swallowing it down as if it were the sweetest of ambrosia.

With a wicked smile, John leaned up from his task: “what do you call me Sherlock?”

A scarlet blush ran down Sherlock’s rapidly rising and falling chest in remembrance, but he bit his lip to refuse himself use of the naughty word in the harsh light of day.

“If you say it, I will let you come,” John purred lowly, licking slowly up and down Sherlock’s shaft, holding his hips down and stroking his calloused thumbs around his hipbones.

Sherlock held out for a moment longer, until his aching arousal could stand it no longer, him mind fraying from the pulsations echoing from his groin and lingering from his well-used arse.

“D-Daddy,” Sherlock whispered, but John only kissed the tip of his cock and shook his head.

“Sorry love, what was that you said?” He asked innocently, his eyes gleaming with dark promise, and Sherlock whined, lying back against his pillows with a hitching breath and feeling a fiery blush licking across his cheekbones.

“Ohhhh, _DADDY_ ,” He cried out in an embarrassingly high voice, but John smiled and leaned down to take his length into his mouth once again, sucking and licking expectedly.

John reached one hand up to toy with Sherlock’s hardened nipple, while at the same time reaching his other hand down to press teasingly against that saliva-coated hole, which opened trustingly for John and John alone.

“Come again for me, now,” John demanded, and Sherlock did, his cock shooting against his abdomen, some reaching his neck, settling there and dripping down Sherlock pale, elegant throat as John watched with throbbing arousal.

Sherlock’s cum dripped down his neck, a flowing path moving downwards to settle in a defined collarbone, and John licked him lips hungrily at the sight.

Sherlock could come twice in a row, without a refractory period. Good lord, it was like a sinful dream John never wished to be waken from.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was still panting harshly, his eyes glazed over with pleasure and his spent cock lying wet and used against his shivering thigh.

John leaned up, licking the cum staining Sherlock’s abdomen and his neck, cleaning it away with sweet kisses and heated licks, until he finally reached Sherlock’s lips.

With a small peck, John whispered, “good morning, little one.”

“J-John,” Sherlock gasped out, looking over to him with an incredulous expression on his face, his eyes still sleepy and blissed out, his body still quaking from achieving two orgasms within minutes of each other.

“Go back to sleep, lovely,” John whispered, and Sherlock obeyed, closing his eyes and beginning to softly snore in the next moment. John gently kissed Sherlock’s forehead and tucked the duvet around his exhausted figure.

Grabbing his phone, John went upstairs to dress for the day and then went downstairs to begin making breakfast for himself and his sleepy, well fucked detective, a self-satisfied smile on his face when he unlocked his phone and looked at the picture of his nude Sherlock.

Adjusting his half-hard cock in his trousers after a moment of looking at the picture hungrily, John walked over to the kettle to make himself a cup of tea.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John fucking Sherlock in the living room of 221B. Size kink, edging. That's it, that's the plot. I still have room for a few more kinks, suggest below or on Tumblr! Comments/kudos appreciated.

Sherlock came out of their bedroom a while later, half-lidded eyes and a sheet wrapped around his sleep flushed body as he yawned, covering his mouth.

John greeted him with a smile when Sherlock sat down at the kitchen island, placing a plate of toast and bacon in front of him. Sherlock picked up the dry toast with a grumble, until John handed him some of his favorite honey from Tesco.

With a grin crinkling his eyes, Sherlock drizzled the honey on his toast with a hum and began crunching away. John watched for a moment in tender amazement; his heart thumping rapidly in his chest as he watched Sherlock, with honey covered crumbs gathered around his lips, sitting there in domestic bliss with John.

He had never felt so ridiculously, insanely happy. And when Sherlock looked up, feeling John’s gaze on his face, looked up, bemusement written over his features.

“I adore you,” John said plainly, watching in satisfaction as a typical blush stained Sherlock’s cheeks as his small, pink tongue peeked out from behind his lips to begin licking the honey away, his eyes turning downwards in a bashful fashion but a small smile gracing his lips. 

Once the two men were done with breakfast, John cleaned up while Sherlock wandered into the sitting room, going over to the couch and lying down in his usual mind palace position, still wrapped in only his sheet.

John walked in a few moments later, and seeing Sherlock’s sheet-clad body, his arousal, so long ignored, began to swell.

John knew he didn’t want to overwhelm his lover with his, occasionally inexhaustible, libido; but now that John had taken Sherlock fully, well….

Now, they could have some adult rated fun.

He paced over to Sherlock, and with a grin, plucked the detective up from his resting place, smiling at his surprised yelp, and placed him over his knee, his arse propped up in a very reminiscent position.

“John, but I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sherlock pouted, not fighting to leave John’s grip (which was telling in and of itself), but John ignored him, grabbing the back of the sheet and ripping it away from Sherlock’s body.

“J-John, the windows are open,” Sherlock gasped, scandalized, as his naked body was exposed to the living room, but John grinned in response and began stroking up and down Sherlock’s flank.

“Then if someone listens from the street, they will hear you moaning happily like a good boy, nothing to be ashamed of,” John replied steadily, and Sherlock buried his face into the couch cushions with a mortified huff.

With that, John’s right hand reached down and began tickling up and down Sherlock’s crevice; the sensitive skin there causing Sherlock to giggle.

John smiled, completely besotted with the adorable man beneath him, and finally delved deeper, poking at and around the still saliva soaked pink hole nestled between the two cheeks.

John reached behind the couch cushions, thankful he had foreseen the need for lube stashed around the flat earlier that week, and flicked the cap open, holding Sherlock’s cheeks apart with one hand and drizzling the wetness on Sherlock’s hole with no warning.

Sherlock wriggled and bit his lip, but allowed John to begin to finger him slowly, feeling comforted by the thick fingers gently roaming in and out of his arse.

John purposefully avoided Sherlock’s prostate, despite his attempts to angle his body so John would rub against the sweet spot.

John spanked his arse swiftly, adoring he handprint that blossomed on Sherlock’s naughty bum in the next instant, “behave, Sherlock.” Then John moved Sherlock slightly off of his lap and got up, motioning for him to follow John to his chair.

John sat down, the bulge in his pants barely constrained, and looked at Sherlock's form meaningfully. Sherlock blushed in realization.

 _John wants to fuck me, in his armchair,_ Sherlock thought, feeling heat racing through his heart at the thought.

Sherlock nodded and straddled John’s lap tentatively, resting his bum on John’s pressed together knees and leaning forward to gently brush his lips against John’s.

They kissed for a few moments, trading sweet pecks back and forth, until Sherlock leaned forward and whispered, “I’m ready.”

John remembered that he forgot to get a condom from the bedroom, and cursing himself for his forgetfulness, made to get up. Sherlock, who even in his somewhat addled state was still a genius, shook his head as John began to move.

“We’re both clean, John, please,” Sherlock begged, reaching for John’s left hand and placing it on his own arse. Sherlock’s prepared bum was soaked from lube, his rosebud practically _dripping_ , and John could wait no longer.

Unzipping his jeans, pushing them down to the floor and releasing his member from his underwear, John flipped Sherlock upright, facing Sherlock towards himself and giving him a passionate, delving kiss.

John grabbed Sherlock by the hips, guiding him down slowly, so slowly, allowing gravity to help as Sherlock wiggled an writhed; bearing down on his cock and clenching as he did, causing John to gasp out.

Sherlock closed his eyes, listening distantly to his whorish cries of pleasure as he sank on John’s cock, completely naked whereas John was completely clothed despite his naked cock, which Sherlock was taking expertly in his well-fucked bum.

“Ohh, ahhh, J-John, _YES,”_ Sherlock cried when he was able to finally, finally take John’s enormous girth into his body, his pink entrance clenching around the girth and causing pulsations of pleasure to race up Sherlock’s spine and into his own cock, which was flushed and leaking.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as John’s cock was fully taken into his body, the feeling of John’s massive member within him causing him to bite his lip to keep from screaming out, and perhaps alarming Mrs. Hudson.

“J- _oooooh_ ,” Sherlock whimpered as John began to lift him, up and down, on his cock. Sherlock’s body pliant in his grasp as he moved him steadily up and allowed him to sink back down, his entrance swallowing John’s manhood exquisitely.

John fucked him in his chair, up and down, rocking his hips in and out of Sherlock’s body. And whenever Sherlock’s moans began to build in mounting pleasure, John would lean forward and bite his earlobe in warning: “do not come until I say.” Sherlock whined but nodded. 

John then stood up suddenly, his large, calloused palms cradling Sherlock’s plump backside as he began to walk them towards the bedroom, with his manhood still nestled deeply in Sherlock’s body.

“John!” Sherlock cried, squirming to escape the gentle hold as he was completely impaled on eleven inches of John’s warm, throbbing member, but John only smirked at him.

“Squirm all you want, love, but your arse-“ he punctuated with a squeeze to the plump, delicious backside- “is mine now.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, and John felt his lust for the younger man consuming him as Sherlock nuzzled his face into John’s neck, allowing himself to be carried around the flat while being fucked up the arse by John.

“Color, darling,” John asked.

Sherlock panted out “Green,” against John’s neck, hiding his blushing face there.

“Hide your face all you like, but I know you love this. Me, carrying you as if you weigh nothing, proving that I can do _anything_ to you,” John growled, lifting Sherlock by his bum about six inches up on his cock and allowing gravity to pull him back down, watching where they were joined as Sherlock’s stretched pink pucker devoured John’s flushed cock once again.

 _Oh, you’re mine_ , John’s mind whispered as he watched Sherlock claw at his arms, his face blushing when he saw John looking at his opening, licking his lips hungrily.

John tried to take a few steps towards the bedroom, but his iron clad control could withstand the throbbing pleasure no longer, the feeling of Sherlock literally in his complete control, squirming on his cock with no where to go, being denied pleasure by John. 

He began fucking Sherlock with abandon in the living room, holding him up as Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John’s lower back and moaned, scrabbling to hold onto his shoulders and digging his fingers in and John lifted him up and down, using his body to achieve his own pleasure. Delirious with it.

“Sherlock, oh, god-“ John called into the living room of 221B as Sherlock leaned forward to latch onto his nipple, suckling it, while John continued to plow into his willing hole.

With a roar, John came, filling Sherlock up to the brim with his seed. He reveled in Sherlock’s moan as he felt the seed hit his inner walls, coating his insides with John’s cum for the first time and adoring the feeling of John’s pleasure inside of him, filling him up. Sherlock closed his eyes, trying not to come until John said.

 _Control, control_.

“John, please-“ he began to beg, but John shook his head, his eyes half lidded in pleasure as he continued fucking him, Sherlock’s over sensitized hole beginning to drip around John’s still hard member.

Absolute _bliss_.

Sherlock gasped in surprise when he realized he wasn’t the only one of them who was able to remain hard after a powerful orgasm. God John, he was going to wreck the young detective. 

“What’re you…. _AH_ ,” Sherlock breathed out as John began slow, teasing thrusts, working himself back up to another release while still denying Sherlock his pleasure.

The curly haired man whined, his opening fluttering as he clenched down purposefully, pushing John to allow him to come, but John would have none of it.

With a wicked smirk, John leaned forward to begin whispering filthily while he fucked Sherlock in the broad daylight of their sitting room, his almost foot long member filling Sherlock to the brim and there was no where to go, Sherlock’s pliant body welcoming him in. John peered into Sherlock's eyes, taking in his smooth cheeks, still maintaining a bit of baby fat, his cupid's bow lips, and his oceanic eyes that were pleading for John to allow him release. 

“You’re completely at my mercy like this, my beautiful boy,” he reminded Sherlock, his eyes shining with dark promise as he began to thrust even harder, his length seeming to split Sherlock in two with the length delving into his most private place. Sherlock felt completely exposed, John fucking him still in his jumper and through his underwear; Sherlock, naked and panting, pink from rapid blood flow in his arms. 

“You can’t escape, and I wouldn’t let you. You’re my little cock warmer,” John growled, biting down on Sherlock’s neck hard enough to leave a bruise, and Sherlock was moaning incomprehensibly now, his mind muddled from denied pleasure.

“John- oh, please, I’ll do anything!” Sherlock promised with a gasp, his cock aching from denied release, but John would have none of it, leaning forward to nip at Sherlock’s plump lower lip in warning.

“Anything?” John hummed, pretending to think about it while his mouth quirked into a naughty grin, “well then, since you’ll do _anything_.”

John began to fuck Sherlock rapidly, pulling almost completely out and pushing back in, _in, in_.

Sherlock leaned into John's masculine smell, breathing it in as his arousal reached untenable levels, his cock bouncing with every thrust of John's pulsing cock into his dripping hole. 

John, realizing they were coming to an end of their play, tilted his hips, angling them to meet Sherlock’s prostate directly. John began rubbing against Sherlock’s sweet spot and smiled at the slutty moans, cries, and whimpers the once haughty detective now released into the living room.

John grabbed his arse hard enough to cause bruises as he neared completion once again.

“J-John, now?” Sherlock asked sweetly, his eyes wide and glistening from overstimulation, his arse unused to the sensation of this deep, inexorable penetration and his continued denial of pleasure. 

“Yes, come now,” John commanded, and Sherlock’s head fell back, his ebony curls in a disarray as he shot out of his cock untouched. His release coating their stomachs in a massive amount from the overstimulation and the orgasm denial.  John’s orgasm came only moments later, and he came with a roar from the quivering pulsations of Sherlock’s arse around his cock as the younger man’s orgasm tapered off with breathy sighs of pleasure.

John coated Sherlock’s insides with his release before pulling out, watching string of his release connecting him to Sherlock’s filled, and well fucked arse with a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

With a smile, John flipped Sherlock into his arms bridal style, ignoring Sherlock’s moaning complaint and blush that he was not, “a blushing virgin.”

“Well, you were yesterday,” John commented, ignoring his arms and legs, which were aching from their vigorous activity, and carried his sleepy detective into the bathroom for a bath.

Turning on the facet, John undressed himself but decided to tend to Sherlock first, lowering him into the warm bathwater and kneeling by the tub, beginning to clean his dirty lover.

He rubbed the washcloth all over Sherlock's worn body, reaching down to wipe off his bits and then further, to his bum. With a little smile at the reddening detective, John rubbed gently around and inside of his entrance, just dipping inside to clean out his cum from Sherlock's aching body. 

Once Sherlock began to whine from oversensitivity, John gently pulled the washcloth from his bruised, well loved bum. He shampooed his hair, gently untangling the curls with his doctor's fingers until sherlock was in a near comatose state of relaxation as he lounged in the bath.

With a smile, John picked Sherlock's lazy body from the bath and laid him on the bathroom floor where he had laid out of a towel. Sherlock tensed for a moment from the cold, but relaxed once John began rubbing lotion over his skin, turning him over to coat his bruised, aching bum with the lotion that gave him relief from the aching. 

 Leaning down, John gave each cheek a wet kiss and then lifted up the nude detective, carrying him back to the bedroom and settling him down; marveling at the fact that sex seemed to allow to usually high energy detective to relax and sleep, if only for a little while. John felt himself growing a bit sleepy himself, and crawled into bed to hold Sherlock against his chest. Sherlock nuzzled into his warm body, already half asleep, and placed a wet kiss on his cheek before falling asleep once again. 

 _Lazy day indeed,_ John thought with a smile, allowing sleep to overcome his senses. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's dinner time at 221B, and while Sherlock normally hates indulging his transport, John thinks he will enjoy this particular dinner very much....


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... this was all me. My mind is a dark place to be, apparently *chuckles* Did I drink a little too much wine while writing this chapter? Maybe. More rimming, face fucking, spanking and a surprise ;) Enjoy! Kudos/comments appreciated.

The next day, the two men came home from a grueling case they had solved; chasing down the murder with John tackling him to the ground, while Sherlock called Lestrade to inform him that the suspect was caught.

Adrenaline was coursing through their veins as they entered 221B, trading kisses and shedding each other’s coats between giggles in unrepentant glee of a case cracked.

“Go to the bedroom,” John whispered with a smile between kisses, “strip, then wait for me, love.”

Sherlock leaned back, his blue-grey eyes widening and his pupils dilating in arousal, before nodding, turning on his heel and walking towards the bedroom to undress. He loved that John always took control, allowing him to relax and let go of his usually rigidly held control. 

The detective shivered as he felt John’s hot gaze following him the entire way.

After a while, John came to the door, opening it and finding Sherlock lying on the bed on his stomach, scrolling through his phone lazily, completely nude; John licked his lips, wanting to go over and plunge himself in that tight arse that knew only his touch, his cock, but he held off.

He had something very special planned, after all.

Sherlock was gazing at John with teasing eyes, a faux-innocent façade, “yes John? See something you like?”

John smirked in response, refusing to give his little lover the upper hand, “of course, darling, but for now, follow me.”

At the command, Sherlock got up, following John with a bemused but excited expression on his young face. The two men walked into the living room, where John had set up a dinner for the two of them; pasta al forno and salad from Angelo’s was laid out delicately, and the fire was roaring.

John had lit candles around the room, giving it a breathtaking glow in the London’s twilight. The scene was hopelessly romantic, and caused Sherlock’s heart to skip a beat. John was doing this all for him, he realized with a tender smile, which faded into confusion once again.

But… Then why was he naked?

After a few more moments of observation, however, a whimper worked its way up this throat, a flaring heat spreading down his neck in realization.

“J-John,” Sherlock stammered, backing into John’s chest and away from the chair currently sitting to one side of the beautifully decorated table.

The chair wasn't the focus of Sherlock’s incredulous gaze, however, oh no, the chair was simple and plain.

There was a the dildo attached to it.

The thick, easily eight inch dildo glistening with oil where it sat on the chair, ready and waiting for Sherlock’s arse to swallow it down to the root, forcing him down on the fake cock that would stimulate him endlessly throughout dinner, without relief.

“Come on Sherlock, you need to eat dinner,” John casually announced, a smirk evident in his voice, beginning to push Sherlock’s unresponsive body towards the chair while Sherlock watched the midnight black dildo with growing excitement and apprehension fluttering in his abdomen, his arse clenching in nervous anticipation.

“No,” Sherlock cried in defiance, fighting to escape John’s grasp, breaking away from John’s tight grasp and beginning to race back to the bedroom. But John caught his arm, pulling him back and turning him to face the army doctor, who had a warning written in his blue eyes.

“ _Sherlock_ ," cautioning against disobedience with the low tone, but Sherlock shook his head wildly, his curls fluttering in the candlelight.

“No, it’s too…. _No_ ,” Sherlock refused to finish his statement, stomping his foot like a child, and John would have none of it.

“Very well,” John replied amicably, and Sherlock glanced up in surprise, before he saw John’s jaw set in a way he had seen only once before.

When he had been punished after the case a few weeks ago. When he had been….

 _“NO!”_ Sherlock cried, but it was too late, John was pulling him over to the couch, settling Sherlock over his knees in a swift motion, propping Sherlock's bum high in the air, much to the younger man's dismay. 

“You had your chance, we were going to have a lovely evening, but you decided you wanted to be difficult,” John said with a reprimanding sigh, stroking over Sherlock’s flank and secretly reveling in Sherlock’s mortified struggles to escape his iron clad hold on the wriggling detective.

“You will count, and thank me for each spank,” John announced once Sherlock’s struggles to break free calmed down, and the naughty detective nodded, his voice choked off from embarrassment that John was going to spank him- like a four year old- yet again.

John hummed after a moment, “oh, my _poor sweetheart_ ,” he teased in a pouting voice, “Let’s see if we can get your arse to be the same shade as your cute, blushing face.”

_Smack_

The spank echoed through the room as Sherlock was rocked forward on John’s hard thigh, burying his head in the couch cushions as he felt his arse jiggle.

God, John was seeing everything.

“O-One, thank you John,” Sherlock gritted through his teeth, feeling completely humiliated, but John decided that he punishment was not enough without an added element of submission.

“No, not John, who am I Sherlock?” John pronounced each word with another smack, feeling Sherlock begin to harden against his thigh despite the violent blush gracing his features, spreading to the nape of his neck where John could view it with a wicked grin. Sherlock loved this, but he hated it in equal measure, which made it all the more fun for John to see his usually assured lover so adorably conflicted. 

“Daddy,” Sherlock sighed in acceptance, and John rewarded this with a few light pats against his already pink bum.

“Look at how your cheeks jiggle for me, your backside is so deliciously plump,” John commented off handedly, his eyes closing in pleasure at Sherlock’s embarrassed hiccup that he tried to muffle with the couch cushions.

_Smack, smack, smack_

“Sixteen, thank you daddy. S-seventeen, thank you d-daddy, _oh_.”

John watched Sherlock’s propped up bum squirm of its own volition for a moment longer, “next time, I think I’ll take a video, so then I can watch your sweet arse writhe for me whenever I like. Show it off to my coworkers, perhaps, that I have such a good, obedient boy.”

“ _Daddy, noooo_ ,” Sherlock pleaded as John began to spank down rapidly, his arse swelling and glowing red in the candlelight room.

“Daddy, yes,” John responded matter of factly, “your arse is mine.”

_Smack, smack, smack_

“Twenty-nine, thank you d-daddy. Thirty, thank you daddy,” Sherlock whispered, wiggling his hips to put pressure on his aching prick.

After a moment longer, John looked up to see Sherlock panting harshly into the cushions where his face was hidden, his erection short and slender against John’s thigh.

“You can’t pretend you don’t love this, _little one_ ,” John growled, landing a few more smacks to Sherlock’s sit spots, just to ensure he would feel their sting during dinner, his tender, soft arse cheeks now glowing a light crimson and standing out beautifully against Sherlock’s ivory skin.

John motioned for Sherlock to get up, and he did, standing before John and rubbing his arse like a scolded toddler, pout and all, his cock standing out and pointing at John’s face.

John watched the adorable sight for a moment while Sherlock stood there in sullen silence, glaring at John all the while, but not making a move, waiting for John’s next command.

“Look who’s being such a good little boy now,” John cooed, and Sherlock’s face blushed scarlet in the firelight at John’s babyish voice.

“Now lean over the table, I need to get you ready,” John whispered lowly, and Sherlock obeyed, stretching out across the unoccupied side of the table, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

John slide a lubricated finger in him swiftly, and Sherlock gasped, unable to believe that each time John entered him was as wondrous as the first.

John stretched him open quickly, scissoring two fingers in and out of the widening muscle.

John leaned down to inspect his work, and without warning, slide his saliva coated tongue inside Sherlock, which was rapidly becoming one of his favorite acts. Sherlock absolutely adored it, but he was so embarrassed, he never asked for the filthy act himself; but he craved it, and John delivered. He tasted so sweet, like his honey body wash and a sweet, slightly earthy scent that was purely Sherlock. 

“J-John, _ohhh, ahh_ ,” Sherlock gasped, writhing on the table as John plundering his tongued-open hole mercilessly with his tongue. Reaching ever deeper into Sherlock’s pink passage and stroking it just beneath Sherlock’s sweet spot.

With a final, teasing kiss against the pinking pucker, John leaned back, “all done.”

“Now,” John said in a conversationalist manner, “why were you so disobedient before?”

Sherlock chewed on his pink lips for a moment before blurting out, “I was embarrassed, John! Were going to have a romantic dinner, and you’re going to be dressed and I am going to be naked, _impaled_ on a-“ Sherlock was cut off when John flipped him up and around, capturing his lips in a kiss, and silencing his protestations.

“You’re so beautiful Sherlock,” John remarked, pulling away with a kiss to Sherlock’s nose and stroking his rosy cheeks with his hands, “let me see you. I want to, it's so attractive to me.”

Sherlock gazed into his blue eyes, eyes shining ‘trust me’ in their depths, and Sherlock nodded his consent.

John gave his red bum a gentle pat and when over to pull out his chair like a gentleman, helping Sherlock line up his flushed body and helping him sink down, down, _down_ ….

 _“Oh!”_ Sherlock exclaimed as his spanked arse hit the cold wood of the chair seat, the dildo completely inside of him and the head of the infernal contraption tilted to nudge at his sweet spot.

No matter how much he shifted, the dildo was designed with ribs and ridges and torment and tease Sherlock from the inside.

John watched his lover squirm, trying to get comfortable to no avail, before sitting down himself. His eyes were sparkling like mad as he poured them both a glass of wine and lifted up his glass in a toast.

“To you, Sherlock. The bravest, wisest, and kindest man I’ve ever know,” John said genuinely, the sentiment for Sherlock shining in his cerulean eyes, and Sherlock felt his throat constricting as he peered at the man who loved him so deeply.

The sentimental moment was broken, however, by a slight buzzing noise emanating from Sherlock bum as John lifted his glass to his lips, taking a drink while Sherlock's mouth fell open. 

“Ohhhhh-OHHH-“ Sherlock’s moans grew as his hands clenched the edge of his seat, throwing his head back and rocking against the constant vibrations coming from inside his arse.

John watched with a smirk growing, twirling pasta around on his fork and leaning forward to nudge Sherlock’s lips with the forkful of food.

“Eat some,” John instructed, and when Sherlock opened his mouth to release another groan, John gently pushed the forkful of pasta inside.

Sherlock bit down on reflex, beginning to chew to proffered food while still rocking, his cock leaking down his shaft as his mind swirled with the delicious food and vibrations pulsing from within the core of his body.

John put the remote control on the table, showing it to Sherlock with an excited grin.

“I ordered this for you, I figured it would be a nice incentive to eat if you could have some fun with it,” John shrugged, lifting another forkful of food to Sherlock’s lips while changing the settings on the dildo, causing the vibrations to pulse in a rhythmic motion that mirrored Sherlock’s rapid heartbeat.

John fed Sherlock his dinner, every once and a while the food would miss Sherlock’s mouth and dribble down his chin; profiting John to coo embarrassingly about how adorable Sherlock looked with marinara sauce coating his face, and causing Sherlock's arousal to swell ever higher in response.

“Look at you; a complete mess. Your well spanked arse and your mouth coated in pasta sauce, you just can't help but be _naughty,_ ” John clicked his lips in mock disapproval, his eyes sparkling contradictorily.

Sherlock’s skin was glistening from the constant squirming, fighting to get away but also push down on the varying vibrations and pulsations emanating from his pink, clenching pucker.

“J-John, please let me come,” Sherlock panted while he shimmied on the deliciously tickling dildo stuffed in his arse, but John only smiled and shook his head.

“Not until you’ve finished your dinner.”

And so there they sat, in the candle lit room in the romantic setting of Baker Street, with Sherlock squirming on his vibrating dildo, his skin perspiring and his lips pink and plumped from his teething.

“ _Ohhh, ahh, yes_!” Sherlock moaned as he neared orgasm once again, but the hard glint in John’s eyes forced Sherlock to whine and slow down his bouncing on the cock, knowing he was never allowed to come without permission.

Sherlock’s dinner was almost gone, John having fed Sherlock and himself over the course of the dinner, grinning all the while and Sherlock’s adorable frustration as he sought his pleasure and fought off his embarrassment.

In a final act of desperation, with tears of overstimulation glistening in his eyes, Sherlock pleaded, “please, _please_ daddy!”

John watched Sherlock for a moment, bouncing up and down on the hard, plastic cock, and leered, “come for me, beautiful,” while also setting the vibrator on its highest setting, positively battering in Sherlock’s clenching, sensitive entrance.

And Sherlock did, his cock releasing white floods over his abdomen and the edge of the table, Sherlock riding the sensations deliriously, his head flown back and his chest heaving, his hardened nipples highlighted by the fire.

After a few more moments of bliss, Sherlock sagged down, whining incoherently until John turned off the vibrator.

John stood up, lifting Sherlock off of the vibrator with a _squelch_ and carrying him in his steady arms to their shared bedroom.

Once he laid Sherlock down, and moved to go clean up from their sensual dinner, Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s wrist.

“Wait, come here, please,” Sherlock begged, and John stepped closer, his brow furrowing. Sherlock undid his trousers efficiently, swallowing down half of his cock easily and moaning around it, peering up at John through his eyelashes as John gripped the back of his head in surprise.

Sherlock leaned off with a pop for a moment before whispering in a low, velvety voice, “ _please_ , fuck my mouth.”

It was like a wet dream. 

John gaped for a moment in complete surprise before Sherlock swallowed him down again, reaching to place John’s hands on the back of his head and bobbing up and down.

John began to trust his hips gently, slowly, into Sherlock wet, suckling mouth, until he could control himself no longer.

In and out John thrust his cock deeper, and _deeper_ , realizing that Sherlock had little to no gag reflex and he was able to fit just over half of his enormous cock into Sherlock’s pouting mouth.

Sherlock continued to lick and suck sloppily, until John came with a low groan, calling Sherlock name as Sherlock swallowed around his cock, mouthing at him through his orgasm and swallowing his cum, not a single drop escaping when Sherlock let off with a dirty ‘pop,’ licking his lips in satisfaction.

“Love you,” Sherlock slurred sleepily, and curled up on the duvet, still covered in his own release, and fell asleep moments later.

John watch this scene in complete amazement before releasing a chuckle and a fond eye roll at the ridiculousness of his detective, before going back out to clean up from their sensual date.

"I love you too, Sherlock," John chuckled to himself, feeling self-satisfied and unbelievably content.. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sherlock goes shopping for a new article of clothing, and John almost comes in his pants :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No sex, but Sherlock goes shopping! Comments/kudos are appreciated :)

John handed Sherlock his cup of tea, blowing on his own to cool it before taking a sip, settling down in his armchair across from the detective who was busy reading through his e-mail.

Sherlock took the tea with a distracted hum of thanks, blowing on it once, twice, and then sipping gently and sighing as the sweet liquid poured down his throat.

John swallowed as he watched Sherlock’s downright pornographic display as he drank his tea, and adjusted himself discreetly in his trousers, coughing and glancing away.

When he looked back, Sherlock was watching him with a gleam in his eyes that said John’s arousal had not gone unnoticed.

“Tea, John?” Sherlock chuckled lightly, “can you be more British? Drinking tea turns you on?”

John glared for a moment before his lips began to quiver and turn up in an amused expression as well in the face of Sherlock's mirth. 

“It isn’t the tea, you cock, its you drinking it. Blowing on it and swallowing it down with a moan just like you do with my-“

“Morning boys!” Mrs. Hudson interrupted their decidedly indecent morning conversation as she shuffled into the room carrying freshly baked orange scones.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock replied, his eyes till trained on John’s with a little smirk as he watched John flush slightly and grunt, standing up from his chair and going over to take the scones from Mrs. Hudson.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, these look delightful,” John said with a smile, having recovered his manners in an instant.

It wasn’t his fault that Sherlock led him to distraction at every moment of the day; he brooded slightly as he carried the scones to the kitchen in order to get Mrs. Hudson a cup of tea, splashing in a bit of milk before carrying it out to hand to their elderly landlady.

“Thank you, dear,” she smiled sweetly as John handed her the cup of tea where she sat in the desk chair, and the three of them spent the next half an hour chatting about the weather, Mrs. Turner’s married ones, and finally, John and Sherlock.

“I’m just so pleased,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron as she clasped her hands together, looking at the two bashful men sitting in front of her, “after all this time, I just knew you who would be perfectly suited, even if dear Sherlock is a bit young for such a serious relationship,” she pondered aloud, John glancing just in time to see Sherlock’s flush of indignation at being called young by anyone but John.

John raised one eyebrow as Sherlock opened his pouting mouth to respond, and the detective snapped his jaw shut, glaring at John and crossing his arms with a huff.

 _Life was so much better before John began punishing me,_ Sherlock thought sullenly, watching Mrs. Hudson and John continue chatting about their new relationship.

 _But…. Life was also better since being with John. Loving John. Letting John care and love me,_ Sherlock corrected himself with a sigh, his internal voice beginning to sound an awful lot like a certain army-doctor.

“And how do you feel about your relationship, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice calling him from his musings, and Sherlock looked over to see John’s eyes watching him curiously.

“I’m very happy with John, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock sighed at being forced into banal conversation, but knowing he wanted to express his feelings about John, “he has saved me. So many times, and in so many ways. I can’t imagine my life without his constant nagging anymore,” Sherlock finished, trying to diminish the sentimental drivel that he had just spewed, but it was too late.

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes were shining, and she was sniffling while looking at Sherlock with a fond expression.

And John…. Well, John’s hands were clenched as if stopping himself from getting up from the chair, embracing Sherlock, and perhaps engaging in acts that would be inappropriate in front of Mrs. Hudson.

“Well, I’m off,” Sherlock pronounced after a moment of silence, jumping from his armchair and rushing over to his coat, pulling it on while Mrs. Hudson and John stared at him in surprise.

“Sherlock, where are you going?” John asked, and Sherlock turned to answer swiftly.

“I have some shopping to do for a case, I shouldn’t be gone too long. Laters!” He called, slamming the sitting room door to 221B and bounding down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning.

“What in the world was that about?” Mrs. Hudson wondered allowed, still watching the door with confusion written in the lines of her face.

“Absolutely no idea,” John responded, turning to look at Sherlock’s empty chair and feeling a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

What’s Sherlock getting up to now?

Shaking his head, John glanced down at his vibrating phone, seeing the surgery had called him into work.

"I've got to go, Mrs. Hudson. That was work," John said apologetically, and Mrs. Hudson nodded with an understanding smile.

John stood up and went to get ready, curious as to what Sherlock was doing but shaking the thought away, writing him a quick note and then going to grab a quick shower. 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Sherlock had gone to a high end-shopping district in London and was standing outside of a Parisian lingerie shop, oscillating on the pavement and biting his lip.

He turned away, shaking his head at his foolishness until he heard a feminine voice call.

“Sir?”

Turning around, he saw a woman tilting her head out of the store door, a bemused smile on her face.

“Do you need some help? You’ve been standing out there for almost ten minutes,” she remarked, and Sherlock looked down, feeling bashful once again at the thought of what he wanted….

“I-I was looking for some lingerie,” Sherlock murmured, stepping closer to the storefront, and the woman opened the door, holding it and gesturing Sherlock inside.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” she confirmed, leading him towards the back of the store where the merchandise was held. Around Sherlock was lace, silk, and colors abounding in the form of corsets, bras, and what seemed like hundreds of panties.

Once in the center of the inviting storeroom, with its white furniture and plush carpet, Sherlock peered around him in alarm as he took in the sheer amount of lingerie. He had no idea where to begin.

“What are you looking for today? Something for your wife?” The woman- _mid-thirties, recently married, has two dogs, dyes her hair_ \- asked kindly.

Sherlock blinked in silence for a few minutes, looking helplessly around him and tensing his body to leave. Sensing his nervousness, the saleswoman walked over and laid a calming hand on Sherlock’s arm continued to shake his head in confusion.

“Or are you looking for yourself, perhaps?” She asked softly, so as not to startle him, and Sherlock nodded gratefully.

“Perfect!” Her eyes lit up, “let me take your coat so I can look at you.”

She helped Sherlock out of his coat, and paced around him, looking for a moment and humming, “can I take your measurements?”

Sherlock nodded and watched in fascination as she pulled a tape measure from her suit jacket pocket and began measuring his chest, inseam, torso length, hips and waist with rapid efficiency.

“Perfect, all done. Almost any color would look good on your ivory complexion, do you have anything in mind?”

“Er… No, not particularly,” Sherlock answered, twiddling his hands together in an uncharacteristic fashion as the woman went over to a shelf and started picking out some items.

Sherlock saw a flash of scanty lace in her hand, and felt a rosiness growing on his cheeks, cursing his pale skin when she turned around and cooed at his obvious embarrassment.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, love, lots of people from all walks of life come here and we accommodate them all. This is not unusual at all,” she waved a hand in his direction, and Sherlock felt calmed by her blasé reaction to him wanting lingerie for himself, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Everyone deserves to feel beautiful,” she whispered, as if letting Sherlock in on a secret, and gave a girlish giggle as she thrust two items into his hands.

“I want you to try these on, and tell me what you think!”

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the dressing room, pulling back the lavish curtain and staring at himself in the mirror. Looking down, he pulled up the softest fabric he had ever felt; it was dripping through his hands like water, and it felt glorious against the soft skin of his hand. The color was ebony, the color as dark as it could possibly be and was striking against Sherlock’s skin

He quickly disrobed until he was standing practically naked in the dressing room with only his underwear on. Refusing to look in the mirror, Sherlock slipped the garment over his head and felt it fall around him, fitting perfectly.

Glancing in the mirror, he saw himself standing there with a black chemise that hit just above his mid-thighs with two slits up each side, rising to his sharp hipbones. The top was cut so as it accentuated his bony chest and lack of breasts, and created a delicately curving waistline that was not truly present.

Sherlock gaped as he stared at his reflection. The chemise was utterly perfect, and he knew John would love it. He had originally decided to go shopping for lingerie to surprise John, and make his lover happy, but now Sherlock was realizing he truly enjoyed the experience of wearing the silky gown.

Sherlock felt beautiful.

Gently taking it off, Sherlock stared down at the next article of clothing, a blush rising unbidden to his face.

“You’ll need some help with the corset,” the saleswoman called from just outside the curtain, and Sherlock nodded to himself.

“Yes, can you come in?” He asked tentatively, slightly embarrassed to be seen mainly undressed but comfortable with the saleswoman who had been so kind to him so far.

She snuck in the corner of the curtain swiftly, pulling it closed and reaching for the corset quickly, avoiding looking at Sherlock’s undressed body. She was a professional indeed, Sherlock noted as she began expertly untying the strings to the complicated garment and calling Sherlock over.

“When you’re on your own, you are going to pull for each section to tighten it from behind,” she showed Sherlock on the bench, and he nodded, observing her movements and memorizing them for his own purposes later.

“Let’s put this on you,” she said, opening the corset and allowing Sherlock to step into it. She latched the front clasps and hold Sherlock to bend slightly and brace himself against the mirror.

“You’ll get used to the sensation,” she explained conversationally, as if she helped men into corsets on a daily basis. Perhaps she did.

She pulled and tightened, not so much that Sherlock was in pain, but enough that it slightly restricted his movement and caused his spine to straighten and his heretofore unmentioned waistline to be defined.

She tied the silk strings in a bow and let them dangle down Sherlock’s underwear clad arse, stepping back and letting Sherlock look at himself.

“You look wonderful,” she said sincerely, and Sherlock nodded in agreement, gulping slightly at his flare of arousal.

The corset was an emerald green, bringing out the green in his eyes as he stared at himself in the large mirror.

The corset pushed up his slightly muscled chest, bringing the muscles together to form the appearance of small breasts with the nipples just barely hidden. This waist, tied off with the black silk bow, appeared ridiculously small on his already slender frame, extenuated his hips, making them appear curvy rather than their usual bony.

Sherlock imagined John seeing him in such a garment, which forced his arse out, making it appear even more plump with the forced curve of his back in the steel-boned garment, and he knew John would positively wreck him.

With a shiver, Sherlock nodded for the saleswoman to begin unlacing, which she did with a salacious grin, “so, this is not a purely selfish endeavor. You’re doing this for your lover?” She guessed, and Sherlock nodded, looking away from her knowing eyes in the mirror as she nodded with a giggle.

“I bet he or she will love it.” She responded, picking up the chemise and the corset and carrying them out of the dressing room, leaving Sherlock to get dressed.

Sherlock excited the dressing room a few minutes later, his hair ruffled and cheeks a bit pink but otherwise unruffled, and walked over to where the saleswoman had laid out some more articles of clothing.

“So, since you liked both the colors and the feel of the chemise and corset, I’ve set out a few panties and sets of lingerie I thought you might enjoy.”

Sherlock gazed at the small pile in front of him, taking in the lace and silk panties with interest before his eye caught on a silky pink and white pair that seemed too small.

“I don’t think these will fit,” he picked them up with his pinky and held them out to the saleswoman, who looked like she was biting back a laugh.

“They will, sir. This-“ she lifted the pair from Sherlock’s hand and lifted them up for him to see fully, “ is a thong.”

Sherlock cocked his head in confusion, “a thong? What is that?”

“It’s a type of underwear, but it looks smaller because it doesn’t fully cover your backside. This small section-“ she pointed to the string of silk-“ will settle in the cleft of your backside,” she finished, smiling at him fondly at his naive questions.

“Oh,” Sherlock responded with a growing blush, looking at the little white panties with pink trim, and a small bow that would rest a few inches beneath his bellybutton.

Well, John _did_ love his arse. 

Looking around the small collection of lingerie and panties that the saleswoman had laid out for him, Sherlock decided to be adventurous and with a nod he pulled out his wallet.

“How much?”

* * *

 

On his way home, Sherlock was biting his lip anxiously, unknowing how he was going to hide the purchases from John. And what if the army doctor didn’t like them? What if he thought Sherlock looked ridiculous? 

The cabbie stopped in front of the flat an coughed, getting Sherlock attention from where he was brooding in the back of the taxi. With a sigh, Sherlock paid, stepping out with his purchases in his hand and moved to open the door to the flat.

Walking up stairs, he saw the doors were closed to the kitchen and the living room. He strode inside, and looking around he saw that John had gone out.

A note was sitting on the kitchen table addressed to Sherlock, and he picked it up, a confused expression marring his face for a moment as he took in the impromptu message.

_Sherlock- I was called into the surgery. I’ll be home in time for dinner. Love, John._

Sherlock read the sloppily written note in John’s doctorly rushed script three times, and then folded it gently and carried it, along with his bags, into the bedroom.

He had some preparing to do.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I just got back from Spring Break- I went to NYC and had a wonderful trip. I saw Phantom of the Opera, and so I threw a few references in this chapter for fun! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Comments/Kudos appreciated <3

Sherlock hung up the phone, having just ordered John's favorite green curry with spiced chicken and naan for dinner. The detective estimated that the doctor would be home in approximately fifty two minutes, depending on the fluctuation in public transportation that day.

He took a deep breath, and went the bathroom, undressing completely and looking at himself in the mirror.

There were days he didn’t understand why John was so infatuated with him and his body, looking at the too skinny flesh in front of him; the slight concave of his stomach and his ribs poking through the light covering of muscle on his chest and abdomen. He ran his hands up and down his torso with a creased brow, but after a moment, he turned away.

He needed to focus.

Getting into the shower and turning it on, he washed and conditioned his hair, and his body as he normally did with his slightly honey smelling body wash. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock picked up the razor and shaving butter he had placed in the bath and lathered his legs, shaving gently up and down cautiously, as he had never shaved there before.

He marveled at the fine, black hairs falling away and the smooth, silkiness of his bare legs left behind it its wake. Then, touching up and down his legs to ensure he didn’t miss apart- and noting that his ankles were particularly difficult- Sherlock hesitantly began to lather his bollocks and thin trail leading to his manhood, beginning to shave that as well. With a shrug of his shoulders, he shaved his underarm hair.

Finally, after a long and thorough shower, Sherlock dried off and shivered slightly at the feeling of his bare skin hitting the cold air of the bathroom.

Sherlock lathered himself in a coconut oil lotion from his face and down his legs, enjoying the silky feeling against his skin and knowing that it would make it soft and slightly glowing.

He brushed through his curls on the way to his bedroom, looking at the lingerie lying on the bed with a feeling of trepidation running up his spine.

What if John laughed at the lean, lanky detective in women’s undergarments? Or worse, was disgusted?

But…. Sherlock knew John. Knew that he was kind, and always accepting of Sherlock’s quirks and faults. So, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Sherlock stepped towards the lingerie, picking it up and observing it closely.

The seams were perfectly sewn on the white and pink thong, and after his confusion and realization in the store of how the garment was suppose to fit, Sherlock was intrigued.

He leaned down, stepping into the panties and pulling them up his smooth, now hairless legs, shivering delightedly at the feeling. Settling them in place, Sherlock gasped as he felt the garment hug his skin and, more imperatively, separate his arse cheeks and rub against his arsehole when he so much as shifted.

“ _Ah_ , she wasn’t incorrect about these fitting me just right,” Sherlock muttered to himself.

He fought down his slight arousal, biting his lips slightly. These panties may prove to be a tease for Sherlock as well.

Walking slowly over to the full-length mirror, Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror with widening eyes.

The pink and white panties left very little to the imagination, but somehow they made Sherlock almost form that much more erotic: practically calling out for sexual attention.

_Yes._

Sherlock felt heat biting at his cheeks as he turned around, glancing at his plush backside in the underwear with a slight grin.

It accentuated his already prominent cheeks, parting it sweetly with a small pink ribbon that only just hid the entrance beneath, a small bow settled beneath his lower back at the very top of the thong back.

They were…. Naughty indeed. Sherlock gulped and a small smile began to form on his lips.

He loved the way they rubbed just right against his sensitive pucker, causing it to throb slightly. Sherlock suddenly couldn’t wait for John to get home.

“Sherlock,” the aforementioned doctor called into the flat, and Sherlock quickly threw on his red silk dressing gown, belting it just in time before John pushed open his-now their-bedroom door.

“What are you up to, Sherlock?” John asked, watching Sherlock’s wide eyes and innocent expression with a growing look of confusion.

“Nothing John, honestly, you worry too much,” Sherlock sassed, rolling his eyes as he strode past John in the doorway, taking a deep breathe of his natural scent and felt his heartbeat pickup.

“The food will be here soon,” Sherlock announced, flopping down in his armchair and sprawling back.

John watched the detective for a moment, and was struck by the feeling that something was amiss. His eye grazed up and down Sherlock prone body, landing on his legs where they were hanging out of his dressing gown.

Sherlock…. Had shaved his legs?

But, why would he….

_Oh._

“Sherlock, what are you wearing?” John asked, beginning to stalk forward, the weariness from a long day at work falling away as Sherlock gulped and looked down bashfully. Gotcha.

_Riiinnnnnggggg._

The doorbell. John sighed in annoyance while Sherlock sprang up, running to the door to collect their food and feeling grateful for the interruption, breathing a sigh of relief.

John was annoyed, and opened his mouth in order to say so when Sherlock returned with the bags of food, but Sherlock had ordered all of John’s favorites and he was hungry, his stomach tightening at the thought of food.

So John decided that he would be patient. For now.

Sherlock lit the fire and the two men laid out the food on the coffee table, eating on the couch and sharing stories from their day. Sherlock was telling John a story from a case he had conducted as a primary school student to solve who was stealing the food from the cafeteria.

“Turns out it was the history teacher, after all,” Sherlock finished, grinning at John’s snorted laugh. They ate in silence for a few minutes after that, just enjoying one another’s company, before John cleared his throat, calling for John’s attention.

“Where did you go shopping anyways?” John asked, his mouth swallowing down the last green curry and wiping his mouth, offering satisfied hum at the good food before turning his full attention to Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath, “I-That’s what I wanted to show you.”

Standing up, and without giving himself a moment longer to think, Sherlock untied his dressing down and let the silky fabric slide down his arms, pooling at the floor around his feet.

John stared in confusion for a moment while Sherlock untied his dressing gown, but when he discovered what was underneath, he nearly choked.

Sherlock was wearing….

He was wearing a pink panties.

John watched, his mouth gaping, as Sherlock stood in front of him, clutching his arms self-consciously in front of him which were spreading with goosebumps as John’s eyes roamed up and down his bare legs, settling on the bulge in his small panties that fit him perfectly, squeezing and cradling his half hard cock.

“I-do…. That is, do you like them?” Sherlock asked quietly after a few more moments of silence, and John had to clear his throat a few times before he could verbally respond.

“You’re bloody gorgeous,” John’s voice ground out, standing up and walking around Sherlock slowly, a predator prowling around his prey.

The detective knew the instant John saw the back of the indecent panties. His breath came in gasps, releasing a in a low, sinful groan. A finger reached out to trail down the inviting piece of ribbon separating Sherlock’s bum.

Sherlock shivered, trying to will away a blush of embarrassment and arousal.

“Look at you, always so shy. But now you’re standing here in front of me, in a thong,” John exhaled as he walked slowly back to Sherlock’s front, his eyes never leaving the tiny, silk garment.

“I, well, I like them too,” Sherlock admitted, biting his lip.

John let out a short laugh at that, looking up into Sherlock’s virescent eyes: “I’m glad, because you’re never taking them off.”

Sherlock smiled at John’s obvious happiness with the purchase, “I bought some more lingerie as well, just… Just in case you liked these.”

John could take it no longer, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling him swiftly to the bedroom, pushing him gently back onto the bed with a growl.

“I don’t _like_ them,” John murmured as he lavished kisses on Sherlock’s elegant neck, nipping at his clavicle lightly in a way he knew the detective adored, “I love them.”

“You’re my beautiful boy,” John murmured, setting a pillow on the center of the bed, “now lay down on your tummy and let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

Sherlock laid down, with his hips over the pillow and placing his bum up in the air, looking over to John with dark eyes and wiggling his arse suggestively.

John took the suggestion, rocked on his feet for a few moments with a ridiculous grin on his face, and pounced.

Ruffling under the bed for a moment, he emerged with two red silk ties.

“Color?” John asked.

“Green, yes,” Sherlock said when he lifted his head, biting gently at his lower lip when he saw the bindings.

John began to weave them around the head board, and then tugged Sherlock’s arms up, tieing his wrists together and tugging, tighter, until he was held tightly by the ribbons to the headboard, his arms flexing from the light stress on his muscles.

John stepped back to admire his beautiful figure, with his arms above his head Sherlock’s lithe body was elongated, his back tensing slightly, his arse in the air was positively glowing as it sloped gently upwards.

The panties- _Oh yesss_ \- the panties acting as a tease, just hiding the furled entrance just behind the scrap of silk. Settling his body down along Sherlock back, John began to kiss at his nape while the bulge in his pants ground down against Sherlock’s mostly bare arse.

“John, John please,” Sherlock whined, tugging at his restraints fruitlessly as John’s hard member pressed teasingly, torturously, against his aching bum.

With a smirk, John sat up briefly, tearing off his clothes in anticipation as he sat astride Sherlock’s thighs. Once he was naked, he settled back down, forming his body against Sherlock’s back, his cock settling between Sherlock’s plump cheeks, rubbing against the strip of silk separating them.

Indescribable sensations raced through the two men as John rocked back and forth, back and forth.

“J-John, please, I need you,” Sherlock gasped, and John nodded, laving kisses on the nape of Sherlock’s neck and tasting the sweet perspiration. Reaching to the bedside table, John snatched the lube and sat back, tugging the thong away slightly to drizzle the cold liquid right over Sherlock’s pink hole, nudging it with two fingers, pushing slightly and then receding.

“Stop teasing,” Sherlock ground out, wiggling his bum and forcing the tip of John’s fingers into his arse with a contented sigh.

“Little minx,” John half-heartedly reprimanded, watching in fascination as his fingers disappeared into Sherlock’s inviting bum, the pink silk string now teasing his fingertips as he passed back and forth. He added another finger, the three of them fitting snuggly in Sherlock’s tight, wet backside.

“I am going to fuck you with these on, and you’re going positively _soak_ your new panties,” John whispered, removing his fingers with a wet sounding squelch.

“Yes John,” Sherlock whimpered, still tugging at the soft ropes tying him to the bedframe to no avail. John lined his aroused member with Sherlock’s entrance and began to push, in, in, in.

Slowly, gently, achingly, until finally, finally, John was seated fully within his lover.

 _“Y-YES!”_ Sherlock cried out once John’s hips were flush with his bum.

Sherlock was clenching his arse, trying to relax despite the large girth splitting him open, making him delirious with pleasure and sensations as every rock rubbed against his sweet spot.

His hard cock was poking out of the front of his panties and was rubbing endlessly against the pillows beneath him.

“Ask for it, love,” John commanded, rolling his hips, and Sherlock’s head fell to the side, resting against his arm, which was trapped above his head as John took his pleasure from his body.

“Fuck me John, please, I’m yours,” Sherlock said shyly, as if he was not being fucked in pink panties while tied to the bed, unable to escape from John’s member unless he allowed it. John shivered from the overwhelming feeling of control settling over his shoulders. 

John replied by pulling out almost completely and pushing slowly back in, making sure to graze Sherlock’s sweet spot the entire time and reveling in his moans and attempts to squirm away.

John repeated this process a handful of times, before Sherlock’s pink walls began to clench and squeeze around him, and the man beneath him began to shake his moans muffled by the mattress where he was hiding his face.

John smiled gently and fucked Sherlock through his first orgasm, a wicked idea popping in his mind.

“You didn’t ask for permission,” John said in a mock-disappointed tone, but Sherlock’s curls sprung up from the bed as he realized his error.

“John, I-I’m sorry _ooohhhhhhhhh_ ,” he trailed off in a moan as John continue to fuck him, Sherlock’s cock began to harden once again from the endless stimulation and he felt John smirking behind him.

Beginning to struggle stronger, Sherlock exclaimed,” John, please, I’m sor- _ahhhhhh!”_

“Oh, you’re not sorry yet, sweetheart,” John cooed in his ear, nipping it lightly as he continued to thrust in and out of Sherlock’s post-orgasmic body, “but you will be.”

With that, John began to plunder Sherlock’s hole with a force of which the two men had never attempted, rocking his hips sharply, and Sherlock’s moans and cries increased in volume until he was choking while attempting to express his pleasure.

_"Yes, y-yes, yes, oh, ahhh, nooooooooo."_

_“JOHN!”_ Sherlock panted out, the dual stimulation of John pressing his arousal against the pillows and filling his aching, needy hole causing him to orgasm again, positively soaking the pillow beneath him.

John clucked his teeth together disapprovingly, his voice a little breathless, “You just can’t seem to learn, can you, love?” John pulled out his soaked, purpling arousal, flipping Sherlock around and pushing the ruined pillows to the floor, twisting the bindings above Sherlock’s arms.

He checked the bindings absentmindedly to make sure they were hurting Sherlock, and peered at his well-fucked lover. Sherlock was flushed red and panting, his eyes wet and delirious from the overstimulation and the powerful orgasms that had occurred within minutes of one another.

“So beautiful for me.”

John smiled at the sight, reaching up to push the sweat-soaked curls away from Sherlock’s forehead.

“Color?” John asked, and heard Sherlock mumble a word sounding like ‘green’ through his orgasmic haze. John the reached down, moving the sweet thong aside once more to prod at the well fucked hole, feeling it clench as John pushed two fingers in and began to rub directly against Sherlock’s sweet stop.

Sherlock twisted in his bindings, trying to escape and press against the sensations, his chest heaving and his cock beginning to slowly harden once again in his thoroughly soaked pink panties.

“ _Noooooooo,_ John, can’t,” Sherlock panted, completely lost to his pleasure, the color high on his cheeks. Within remorse, John continued to stroke in teasing, sure circles around the small nub inside of his lover until his pink cock dripped out a small amount of cum.

“ _Ahhh- hghh_ ,” Sherlock moaned, tears falling from his eyes from the overstimulation, his body entirely exhausted and sexually spent. Sherlock’s overstimulated crying continued, his body lethargic, and John smiled and wiped the leaking tears away, kissing over his face gently in contradiction to the harsh lovemaking.

John lined up once again, not allowing Sherlock but a moment, and began to push his now throbbing arousal back into Sherlock. Sherlock’s eyes, droopy from his three subsequent orgasms, widened when he felt John’s throbbing manhood entering him once again.

“J-*hic*- _John_ ,” Sherlock hiccupped, his voice whimpering.

His arms went slack in their bindings, his head falling back in groaning acceptance of John’s control over his body and pleasure.

“That’s right, darling,” John grunted out as he began to rock, “your pleasure is mine. You belong to me.”

After a moment longer of rocking, Sherlock’s body went completely slack, his body falling into unconscious exhaustion from the inexorable pleasure and sensations pummeling his body, his mouth falling slightly open and his eyelashes fluttering against his scarlet stained cheeks.

Watching Sherlock pass out from pleasure completely undid John’s control, and with another thrust, he cried out, “ _Sherlock,”_ and came, coating Sherlock’s insides with his essence.

He pulled out gently, calming his breathing and leaning down to look over Sherlock’s entrance, not seeing any tears and smirking at the sight of his come dripping from the reddened, well-used pucker.

John’s cock gave a twitch at that, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes at his apparently insurmountable arousal where Sherlock was concerned. 

John undid Sherlock’s bindings and, with a sad sigh, pulled the soaked panties off of Sherlock’s body. He loved the thong, but he knew by experience how uncomfortable it would be to wake up with come soaked clothing clinging to you. He wiped them both off with a washcloth before settling into the sleep.

Sherlock mumbled when John laid down beside him, and rolled over to rest on his chest, still unconscious and exhausted and craving John’s warmth.

With a smile, John kissed his forehead and rubbed his arms before succumbing to sleep himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my page on tumblr for updates on the story:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://alwaysgryffindorish.tumblr.com/post/158159228945/sexual-awakening-dps-sherlock-tv-archive-of>  
> 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain John Watson and a mesmerized Sherlock. Blow Jobs. Comments/Kudos are appreciated!  
> All the best, DPS

John felt dawning awareness coming over him the next morning, a strange sensation emanating from his chest. Blinking his eyes blearily, he looked around for the reason he was being awoken.

Sherlock. More specifically, a needy Sherlock who was hunting for attention.

“Good morning, John,” murmured the sleepy eyed detective, who was peppering John’s chest with kisses in order to wake him further while sprawling his entire body on top of John’s. Their naked flesh was touching in every crevice, but neither man felt particularly aroused as the night before was extremely…. Stimulating.

With a groan, and an exasperated eye roll, John quickly flipped the entwined men over, pushing a bright-eyed Sherlock into the bed with a chuckle.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” John commented, leaning down to press teasing pecks all over Sherlock’s grinning face while the younger man laughed and tried to push him away.

“We have to get up, John,” Sherlock tried to level his voice, and put on his usual impassive mask. But John stared down at him, his midnight blue eyes shining as if Sherlock was more brilliant than the Van Buren Supernova, and Sherlock’s resolve to have a productive morning crumbled under the weight of affectionate, saccharine kisses.

“I do love you,” John murmured between kisses, adoring Sherlock’s naked, sleep warmed body beneath his own, “I absolutely adore you, even when you’re a git.”

“I know, John,” Sherlock said back, meeting John’s gaze levelly and placing John’s unoccupied hand over his heart; expressing his love for John in his devotion, submission, and every quickened beat- _thump, thump, thump_ \- of his heart.

The two men stayed in their warm embrace for a moment longer, before Sherlock’s overactive transport could be denied no longer and he began squirming in John’s hold, aching for release.

John reluctantly pulled away, and rolled off the bed to go to the loo. Meanwhile, Sherlock grabbed his phone and checked his messages, groaning when he saw his brother’s name light up.

_Sherlock, I need you at the fundraiser tonight. It is imperative. Bring Dr. Watson –MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but remembered that he did owe his brother a favor. Grabbing the tangle sheet from the bed, he wrapped it around himself while fighting down a blush when he recalled what had taken place in the bed only hours before.

“John,” Sherlock called, “we’re going out tonight.”

John opened the door, still wiping his hands with a washcloth and staring confusedly at the detective, “where are we going?”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, clutching his sheet tighter around his body but raking his virescent eyes down John’s naked form, standing in silence and staring at John.

John allowed this perusal for a few moments, never one to be body shy. But after a while of staring, John realized that Sherlock was caught somewhere in his massive intellect, and needed a push.

“Sherlock, love, come back to me,” John commanded, not harshly but with enough steel that Sherlock jumped to attention, standing rigid, waiting for John’s next order.

 _Interesting_.

“Where are we going?” John continued, tucking that piece of information away in his mind as he watched Sherlock gather his thoughts, beginning to pace around the bedroom and looking adorably ruffled.

“We’re going to a fundraiser for Mycroft, there is a high ranking official who will be attending, Lord Grey. He is suspected of embezzling government funds to secure his financial stability. I need to catch him at it,” Sherlock bit out quickly, his words short and focused, his mind already spinning on the case. The many variables and possible outcomes swirling in his mind’s eye as John watched forever fascinated by Sherlock’s brilliance.

“Ta then,” John said, turning to walking towards the living room, tearing his eyes away from his detective on the case, “let me know when we need to leave.”

“No, we need to go out and get suits,” Sherlock bristled, going to the wardrobe and dropping the sheet on the ground, pooling around his feet.

John glanced away from Sherlock’s naked form in order to concentrate, his brow furrowed, “why? It’s just a fundraiser, right?”

Sherlock was tugging on his usual tailored dress pants and shot John and annoyed look, “no, John, this is not ‘just a fundraiser,’ this is a black tie event. You need a tuxedo.”

Sherlock continued dressing, pausing after a moment when he realized John had never responded. Turning around, he saw John oscillating in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I do have a black tie outfit, Sherlock,” John cleared this throat, an unreadable expression donning on his face, “My dress uniform. I wear it to every wedding and formal event. Or…. Or is that not good enough?”

Sherlock’s mouth ran dry, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, speechless.

John. Dress-uniform. John in a dress-uniform. With his rank clearly displayed. Oh.

“Y-yes,” Sherlock choked out, “perfect. That’s perfect, John.”

John straightened up, watching Sherlock oddly for a moment, unsure of Sherlock’s stilted response but feeling better that his uniform would work for the evening’s investigation.

“Great. I’m going to go make sure it still fits,” John called, already walking up towards his mainly unused bedroom. Sherlock stood, his trousers still unbuttoned as he gaped after John.

After all, it wasn’t just the girls who loved a soldier.

Sherlock shook his head to clear it, and continued getting dressed. He tried not to imagine John buttoning, fastening, and adorning himself in his Army dress uniform only a floor away.

He felt his arousal tenting his pants and groaned lowly, banging his head against his wardrobe.

 _Save me from disarmingly handsome Army captains_ , Sherlock thought wildly, bracing himself and exiting the bedroom to prepare for the upcoming case.

Seven o’clock came quickly; Sherlock was sitting on his bed twiddling and wringing his hands after finishing donning on his tux, waiting for John to come downstairs so they could leave for the gala.

He heard the sound of freshly shined boots clamping down the stairs, and shot up like a firecracker, walking swiftly the living room and trying to control his breathing, fiddling with his cuff links for the eleventh time and straightening his bowtie.

Sherlock was still staring at the floor, adjusting himself and breathing shallowly, when John entered the room, clearing his throat.

“Well?” John asked, and Sherlock braced himself, looking up and seeing John standing in parade rest, ever the solider in uniform. The golden buttons were shining, having been freshly cleaned, and every line in the black suit was crisp.

John’s many achievements as an Army captain were played as badges on his right chest, and the scarlet red strip running down his pant legs only made him stand out further as a distinguished soldier. His beret was tilted slightly on his head, making the shock of blonde hair peaking through even more breathtaking.

Sherlock did not see his usual fluffy-jumper wearing John, no, this was Captain John H. Watson, M.D., of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, commanding his unit and saving lives through his natural ability to lead despite his slighter height.

His posture, his uniform, the air around him screaming danger and complete control… And then he smirked, and Sherlock’s legs began to tremble.

“See something you like, then?” John asked teasingly, walking forward a few paced until his was chest to chest with Sherlock, his eyes darkening with a challenge. Before Sherlock realized what he was doing, he was falling to his knees, looking up to John.

“Please, just, please-“ Sherlock trailed off, biting his lip and watching John’s growing erection in his dress pants, leaning forward to breathe in the scent of arousal. John smelled like gun powder, tea, and like the masculine scent that was naturally his. It was intoxicating. 

“Unzip my pants, and take me out,” John instructed with a growl, and Sherlock gently unzipped the fabric, cognizant of John’s erection, and gently pulled out the impressive length from its confines. Sherlock felt saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of the reddening member, and leaned forward to kiss lightly at the tip where precum was gathering.

“Naughty boy, alright, suck me,” John commanded, and Sherlock licked a stripe up the length before beginning to swallow John down, slowly, teasingly rubbing his tongue along the head while his throat constricted and swallowed around John’s manhood.

“ _Mmmnnm_ ,” Sherlock hummed around John’s length, and John reached forward to grab Sherlock’s previously tamed curls, beginning the thrust shallowly into Sherlock’s mouth, watching saliva form around Sherlock’s plump, red lips which were stretched around his cock.

John came moments later with a groan, pouring his seed down Sherlock’s creamy throat with a guttural moan, and Sherlock swallowed him down, savoring every last bitter swallow, his eyes closing in pleasure.

He pulled off with a pop, tucking John’s saliva covered cock back into his trousers, zipping him up and then glancing up through his eyelashes, still on his knees. Waiting for John’s next command.

“Stand up, love, it’s time to go,” John instructed gently with a smile, and when Sherlock stood up, he straightened his tie and smoothed back his recalcitrant curls, pressing a kiss to the detective’s forehead, and two to his flushed cheeks.

  
“Yes, sir,” Sherlock whispered in a daze, and John’s eyes lit up with wicked promise.

“If you’re good tonight, Sherlock, and follow my every order, I will make it worth it. I will _Take. You. Apart_. “ John promised darkly, and Sherlock’s eyes cleared slightly from their arousal induced haze to nod desperately in agreement.

“Good, now let’s go.”

* * *

 

Exiting the cab, John was slightly overwhelmed by the apparent size of the gala. It was being held at the London Museum of Art, and reporters were lining the curving stairs, cameras flickering constantly like strobe lights as finely dressed women and men, England’s elite, entered the fundraiser.

“Come, John,” Sherlock called, darting out of the cab with the energy that allow accompanied him on cases. John exited the cab and placed a hand on his back, guiding him towards the open doors and inwardly smirking at Sherlock’s fiery blush at John’s obvious display of possessiveness.

When the two men entered the large, open room, they both stared around them at the splendor.

“It’s like from a fairytale,” John remarked, and Sherlock nodded. There were fairy lights hanging from the ceilings, along with a massive chandelier. Waiters were passing out drinks, and a string quartet was playing in the corner of the echoing space.

John grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed one to Sherlock, the two men standing to the side of the room, drinking the delicious champagne and trying to keep their arousals in check.

 _Sherlock looks edible in that suit,_ John thought, licking his lips and looking Sherlock up and down, his creamy skin glowing in the ebony suit. 

 _I need John. Now, pushing me down, commanding me to.... No. Focus._ Sherlock tried to push the distracting thoughts away, avoiding John's hungry gaze. 

“I need to observe the room,” Sherlock murmured, and John watched as he gazed around the room to find a prime spot for finding Lord Grey.

Sherlock’s eyes light up, and John felt a sense of unease fluttering in his abdomen when Sherlock looked at him with appraising eyes for a moment, and then nodding.

Sherlock took John’s hand, and led him the edges of the dance floor, where other couples were turning gracefully to the beautiful music, swirls of colors from women’s dresses making the scene dreamlike.

“Take my waist,” Sherlock whispered, turning to face John and stepping close. John’s confusion only lasted a moment, before his eyes widened.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, as if daring John to refuse, and with a sigh of defeat he felt John’s sure hand wrap around his waist. John looked up questioningly into Sherlock’s mischievous eyes.

“We have to dance, look natural. It’s a waltz. I’ll lead,” Sherlock murmured, his low tones sending a shiver down John’s spine and he stood straighter in his dress uniform. The music began, and after three counts, the two of them beginning to glide.

One two three _, twirl,_ one to three, _spin_.

Around and around the dance floor they moved, Sherlock leading the steps but John very much keeping the two men afloat, their eyes locked intensely, blue meeting changeable grey.

John clenched his hand around Sherlock’s own, pulling Sherlock closer to his compact body, pulling Sherlock’s lithe frame into John’s muscular chest.

“You’re so beautiful tonight, darling,” John whispered lowly, leaning into Sherlock’s chest, "I wish we could dance all night, and I could show off my sweetheart to the world." Sherlock breathed in John’s pleasing cologne and nature scent, the sensations of the dance, the glass of champagne, and John’s closeness and words morphing together in his mind.

 _Focus, Sherlock,_ his inner-mind said sardonically, sounding annoyingly like Mycroft.

Sherlock scanned the room slowly, trying to focus on the people in front of him and not the army doctor pulling him close, whispering sweet words into his ear.

Sherlock had never been so uninterested in a case as he was right now.

Shaking his head, knowing he needed to focus, he watched as they turned once more around the room, finally spying Lord Grey among the guests, laughing and mingling, a dark mirth echoing in his eyes.

“He’s there John,” Sherlock whispered, and saw John glance briefly at Lord Grey, taking in his fine suit, glass of brandy, and obviously faked chuckles.

“Bit of a pompous prig, then, yeah?” Sherlock snorted, looking down at John with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock agreed, amusement lighting his eyes as the two men slowed their movements, the dance coming to an end, the final note floating through the air, settling around their connected bodies.

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled away from John.

“Come, John. We have a case to solve.”

John nodded in agreement, and the two men set off in the direction of the embezzling man.

“I’m going to distract him, give me one minute. Then I need you to grab his phone. It is located in his right breast pocket,” Sherlock instructed. John nodded, and watched with a growing sense of trepidation as Sherlock practically sauntered over to the suspect.

John watched with growing irritation as Sherlock engaged the pompous lord in conversation, laughing overly loud at a turn of phrase and placing his ivory hand on the suspect’s arm.

John bristled, watching Sherlock flirt with the distinguished lord, touching him unnecessarily. He clenched his fists and looked away, spotting a half empty wine glass and a wicked idea coming to the forefront of his mind.

John strode forward and walking directly towards Lord Grey, stumbling over and bumping Sherlock out of the way, spilling the glass of wine all over Lord Grey’s dress shirt.

“Sorry about that,” John said with a mock horrified expression on his face while Lord Grey sputtered in shock.

“Let me help,” John cried, leaning forward and patting him down, slipping his arm into the man’s jacket while he tried to push John away from his person. He snatched the phone and shoved it up his sleeve as Lord Grey sputtered out his anger.

“Get off of me, you idiot,” Grey growled out, and John watched impassively as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t speak to him that way, sir, excuse us,” Sherlock said, grabbing John’s arm and walking them towards the exit, ignoring the lord's affronted look and wine stained clothing.

“Wonderful work, John,” Sherlock praised once they were outside, but John backed him up against a pillar, not giving him a moment to enjoy the thrill of a job well done. Sherlock's back hit the marble with a soft thump, and he looked confusedly down to meet John's gaze. 

“What did _you_ think you were doing, hmmm? Flirting with him?” John growled, his anger from before bubbling back the surface, and Sherlock gulped slightly and looked away.

“I-It was the easiest way the distract him. I’m his type…” Sherlock explained, but John’s grip on his forearms only tightened at this.

“Who do you belong to?” John asked lowly, his eyes glinted and his persona completely Captain Watson. Sherlock felt his slightly distracted arousal surging violently through his lower abdomen, his heart rate raising steadily as he anticipated the night before him with a jealous, authoritative John. 

“You. I belong to you, John.”

Sherlock shivered as John nodded once definitely and led them towards the street to hail a cab, “I’m going to make sure you never forget that again.”

Sherlock felt heat stinging at his cheeks, and his palms began to perspire in nervous excitement as he followed Captain Watson into the fray.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check my tumblr for updates!  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> <http://alwaysgryffindorish.tumblr.com/post/158293882165/sexual-awakening-dps-sherlock-tv-archive-of>  
> 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait, my semester has been busy and I recently interviewed for and received a job! Yay!  
> Warnings: blow job, figging, spanking, rimming, and military kink, not necessarily in that order.  
> Cheers!  
> DPS

 

The cab ride home to 221B passed in a blur, with John gripping Sherlock’s leg tightly in a possessive manner while Sherlock’s mind swarmed with arousal and the adjoining chemicals- release of oxytocin into the bloodstream, a pounding of his heart caused by the rise in adrenaline.

Before Sherlock realized, John was pulling him out of the cab, in the door to their home, and up seventeen creaky steps into the sitting room.

“Strip,” Captain Watson commanded, and Sherlock began shedding his beautiful layers, the suit falling away to reveal his blushing alabaster skin resting beneath.

“Good lad,” John praised, walking around Sherlock predatorily and pinching his arse teasingly, smirking at Sherlock’s small yelp of surprise.

“I need to grab something, brace your hands against the mantle and wait,” John whispered in his ear, grasping Sherlock’s neck tightly in his grip. Sherlock shivered at the words and John’s hand on his sensitive neck, steading him.

“Yes, sir.”

Sherlock walked dazedly over to the mantle, ignoring his skull in favor of focusing on steading his breathing. Even after the many intimate adventure’s he and John had explored, each time still possessed the thrill of the first touch.

He felt a heat on his naked back, and tensed slightly in anticipation, waiting for John’s orders.

“Spread ‘em, sweetheart,” John ordered, tapping the back of Sherlock’s thighs to emphasize his point.

Sherlock felt one finger coated in lube, then two, invading his body and he shuddered at the familiar pleasure filled sensations shivering up his spine. His toes curled against the carpet as he thrust back lightly onto John’s thick digits stretching his hole.

The fingers that were driving him delirious suddenly exited, and he whined in displeasure.

“ _Jooohhhhnnn_ ,” Sherlock called, but felt a foreign object being pressed into his sloppy, reddened hole in response.

“What…?” Sherlock gasped as the plug like object settled inside of him, and he wiggled his hips around for a moment, testing out the large plug holding him opened, teasing at the corners of his sensitive rim.

He felt John strong hand gripping his arm, and before he knew it, he was staring down at the worn carpet, lying face down and naked over John’s lap.

Before he could even whisper out a retort, John began raining down harsh smacks on his backside.

In the back of his mind, the detective had assumed that John would dole out his favorite punishment. Being splayed over John’s lap and completely exposed in their sitting room while John spanked him like a child caused his cheeks to blush pink in humiliation.

He hoped that Mycroft hadn’t hidden any new cameras in the flat.

Sherlock tried to wiggle free, and John gripped his hip briefly, squeezing sharply in warning as his right hand continued to punish Sherlock in an infantile and embarrassing fashion.

_Smack. Smack. Smack._

“This isn’t how I wanted to end our evening, Sherlock,” the ex-Captain ground out, watching in dark delight as Sherlock wriggled and squirmed over his lap as he relaxed in his dress uniform, content to stay there all night an watch Sherlock’s plump bum move under his hands.

_Smack, smack, smack._

John focused on Sherlock’s tender sit spots, making sure to drive the plug deeper into his young lover’s body with each smack as he reprimanded his young, impulsive lover: “you, writhing naked over my knee with ginger stuffed up your bum to teach you a lesson was not how this evening was suppose to end. But you’re a naughty boy, and needs must.”

Sherlock hissed as said ginger root began to tingle and burn, and every smack from John’s hand causing his sensitive, stretched, and over-teased hole to clench in agony over the stinging plug.

_Smack. Smack. SPANK._

“ _JOHN!”_ Sherlock cried, tears running down his flushed face as the overwhelming sensations battered into his body, his bottom practically aflame from John’s overwhelming attentions and military precision whilst delivering his punishment.

“You won’t flirt with anyone like that for a case again, will you, Sherlock? Because if you do, I will turn you over my knee and spank you right there. And they will see how much you secretly love it,” John declared calmly, softening his spanks to soft pats and watching the blush colored cheeks jiggle, and small plug just peaking out from between those two luscious mounds.

Sherlock just sniffled in response, the pain from his backside and his sensitive rosebud warring for his body’s attention as he tried to control his overflowing tears and confusing arousal. 

“ _Aww_ , don’t cry darling,” John cooed, lifting the languid detective from his place lying prone across his lap and tucking his lithe body under his chin, allowing the sniveling detective to settle as he cradled Sherlock against his body.

John tucked a few stray curls from Sherlock’s reddened face, and kissed his forehead, biting back a smile as Sherlock leaned into the easy affection.

Beautiful.

“Such a _good boy_ for me now,” he praised, wiping a few stray tears away, and Sherlock preened under John’s affection. John rolled his eyes and looked down, noticing Sherlock’s arousal, which had flagged somewhat from the punishment and his stinging bottom, was now back full force.

John reached down to begin stroking Sherlock’s arousal, ignoring Sherlock’s pleads of oversensitivity as precome began to leak from the tip of his engorged cock.

“Look at you, you just needed a spanking on your bare bum and a cry, didn’t you love?” John smirked, watching as Sherlock’s cheeks flushed deeper as he moaned in mortification as John’s words registered in his brilliant mind, and he tried to hide his face in John’s military collar.

John smirked, his eyes sparklingly darkly as he continued, “yes, that is just what my baby boy needed, a spanking with a ginger root and then some attention from his daddy.”

“J-John, _stop talking_ ,” Sherlock commanded, his voice with a whining edge to it as he thrust up into John’s touch.

“ _Ohhh,_ you’re going to come soon, aren’t you? That’s a love, going to come all over my uniform like a good, beautiful boy,” John remarked, “after this I’m going to have you stand in the corner with your hands on your head, your red bum on display for all to see.”

“No,” Sherlock whimpered, “Sir, I-“

“I might even take a picture, show it off,” John continued, his voice taking on a military edge as Sherlock quivered in his arms, his alabaster skin pinked with arousal and embarrassment colliding in droves, “I’ll frame the picture of your plump, pink cheeks with the ginger root sticking out and put it on our mantle. Then _everyone_ will know what an obedient boy you can be, even after you’ve been a bit naughty, hmmm.”

“ _Nhhgh, oh, ahhh_ ,” Sherlock felt the rivaling sensations of embarrassment and arousal in his belly, the stinging from the ginger root fading but still prevalent as John bounced him lightly on his knee while he stroked Sherlock’s flushed cock and whispered embarrassing remarks.

John tightened his grip, and Sherlock came, painting his abdomen with his release as John stroked him to relief.

Without conscious thought, Sherlock rolled off of John after a moment and kneeled between his legs, looking up at him with widened eyes.

“Please, sir, use my mouth.”

John groaned at the- frankly ridiculous- statement that should be hilarious, but with Sherlock’s genuine and youthful voice, it sounded sincere and bordering on begging.

John nodded and Sherlock reached forward, quickly unzipping John and taking out his aroused member and swallowing the tip with a moan of satisfaction.

Sherlock took his time suckling on the head, drinking down John’s precome in a way that should have been illegal; Sherlock’s lips stretched around his cock in a pornographic fashion and moaning, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as John watched transfixed.

“Your mouth should be illegal, my little slut,” John growled, carding his thick fingers through Sherlock’s curls and throwing his head back in abandon, moaning as Sherlock works his pink, glistening mouth along John’s throbbing manhood.

Sherlock felt a pulse of arousal at being called a slut and sat back on his heels, his tingling and red arse resting against his heels as he sucked at John, humming lightly and tracing his wicked tongue along the sensitive slit at the top of his cock and listening to John’s pleased groans of arousal.

John’s breathing grew deeper, and Sherlock sucked harder, fitting as much of John’s cock in his mouth as he could and feeling the bitter shot of come trickle down his throat as John stroked his creamy neck.

“Such a good boy, Sherlock,” John bit out after a moment of catching his breath, tucking himself back in and looking effortlessly unruffled in his dress uniform.

Sherlock looked down at his reddened, cum stained and well spanked body and crossed his arms in front of himself where he kneeled on the floor, feeling self conscious as he looked away from John, feeling unaccountably shy.

In the next instant, he felt a pair of fingers tilting his chin up and Sherlock met John’s smiling midnight blue eyes with his own grey pair.

“Don’t feel self-conscious, darling, I love seeing you submit to me. I’ve never met anyone half as beautiful as you.”

Sherlock blushed and glanced away for a moment, but the sheer genuineness in John’s voice could not be ignored. Sherlock glanced up, feeling his lips quirking in pleasure as he took in the handsomeness of one John Watson in uniform.

“Sir yes sir,” Sherlock mumbled with a smile, and John rolled his eyes, the tender moment passing as the two men watched one another in the confines of their home.

“Now, go stand in the corner, hands on your head,” John said, waving one hand and sitting back in his chair with an easy smirk.

“B-but-“

John held up one hand to still Sherlock’s arguments, and with an annoyed groan Sherlock bounced up from the floor, but before he could dart away, John grabbed him by the hips and dragged his arse towards John, so it was directly in front of his face from where he sat in his armchair.

"Shhh, I just need to take this out," John soothed, and reached forward to poke lightly at the ginger plug that was still sitting snuggly in Sherlock's prone arse. The younger man gasped as John rotated the plug teasingly, pushing it against Sherlock's prostate lightly before beginning to pull it out.

Slowly, slowly, _ooooohhhhhh_. 

"J-John, I-I can't-" Sherlock muffled a moan, biting at his plush lower lip as John finally pulled the plug free from his stinging slightly swollen rosebud, watching the adorable pucker try and clench around an object that was no longer there. Sherlock felt his insides were achingly empty, and his body shivered as his secret place sought out something to fill it once again.  

John tutted from where he sat in mock sympathy for Sherlock's hungry rosebud, his breath fanning Sherlock's quivering hole where it lay less than a foot away.

"I know _just_ how to sooth the itch," said John, and Sherlock could hear the teasing mirth in his voice, his expression wrinkling in confusion. What could John mean by that? 

"John, what do you mean- _nhhggh_ ," Sherlock fell back, his eyelids fluttering shut as he was caught by John holding his hips as John began to kiss and lick at the pink and clenching hole, cradling his face between Sherlock's plump arse cheeks as he soothed away the last remaining stinging from the ginger. 

" _Mmmhmmm_ ," John hummed, causing goosebumps to break out over Sherlock's chest and arms as the vibrations stole from his sensitive rim and through his body that was already covered in a sheen of sweat from their activities. John locked his lips around the sensitive rim that tasted like salt, ginger, and something distinctly Sherlock as his thick tongue began to wriggle inside of Sherlock, much to the younger man's outward delight. 

"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed, thrusting back against John's invading tongue as he began to harden once again under John's ministrations. God, he loved when John did this to him. It was so forbidden, absolutely filthy and so, so, _so_ arousing. 

But John broke away with a final wet smack to the pouting pink bud, and patted Sherlock on the bum teasingly. 

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and pouted, obviously wanted John to finish licking him out so he could come again, but John only grinned and pointed towards the corner, "now, young man." 

Sherlock's pout grew stormy as he stomped over to the corner by the bookcases, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing loudly to alert John to his sulk.

John merely pulled his phone from his pocket and swiftly took a picture of his punished detective, his glowing arse facing the room and his mussed curls looking absolutely delicious. There was still a sheen of saliva where John had been sucking and prodding at his hole just moments before. John looked down at the picture on his phone with a smile and added it to his file of Sherlock pictures, smirking in delight at the adorable nature of his freshly spanked and reprimanded detective.

So sweet. 

“John, you’re not really going to show those to anyone, are you?” Sherlock asked nervously, having deduced John’s silence and slight movements as him taking a picture, despite being in the corner and unable to see.

“It depends on whether or not you behave,” John called and sat back, content to watch his detective pout naked in the corner for a while longer before cleaning him off and taking him to bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Exhibitionism, sex toys under clothes, and more lingerie


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I am terribly sorry to have kept you all waiting- life had been hectic between finishing exams, working full time, and some personal difficulties. I'm happy to say I am back and continuing to write this fic, as I have many more ideas and chapters to come. I hope you enjoy this short but sweet interlude. I assure you it will not be the last.  
> Warnings: Object insertion, slight humiliation kink

John was sitting in his armchair in 221B, drinking his tea, reading the newspaper and trying to ignore the nervous prickling at the nape of his neck. The flat was quiet, calm, and utterly ordinary.

And that was how he knew something was _wrong_.

Since the beginning of his and Sherlock’s relationship, outside of the bedroom, very little had changed. Sherlock was still Sherlock: impetuous, needy, and brilliant. John was still steadfast, with his browning at the ready on a case and a cuddle ready for a classic Sherlockian strop at any moment.

So yes, nothing had changed….Well, beyond the fact that now John was able to enjoy the punishments he dished out when Sherlock misbehaved.

But 221B was still a hotbed for activity on a daily basis, between cases and the sheer insanity of their lives together, the idleness of ordinary life fell beyond the bleached bricks of their chaotic flat.

Which was why John was agitated in the calm silence of the morning.

_Where was Sherlock?_

“JOHN!” Sherlock yelled in a boisterous voice, breaking John was his musings and causing a small smile to form on the doctor’s lips and his eyes to crinkly up in the corners.

He could always trust Sherlock to break him out of his more contemplative moods.

Before John could make a move to get up from the chair, Sherlock was racing in the flat in a flurry of woolen coat and curls, dashing towards John with a brilliant smile lighting up his youthful visage, and John felt his own smile grow in response. Sherlock's excitement was endlessly entertaining as it was infectious. Occasionally John forgot that Sherlock was so young at only twenty-five, but these pure moments reminded the good doctor. 

“John, you must come, someone’s stolen a rose!” Sherlock gestured wildly about, his ebony curls bouncing from the movement and Sherlock’s face slightly flushed from his exertion and rising energy.

“Wait…hmm, what was that? A rose?” John asked, his brow furrowing as he watched his young lover’s eyes dance at the mere mention of the seemingly insignificant flower.

“Come John, I don’t have time for your tedious questions! Yes, it’s a rose; the rarest in the western world and it’s been stolen. Do you understand what this means?” Sherlock’s voice grew slightly higher in pitch in anticipation, and John watched him for a moment before shaking his head.

“No… Not really,” John remarked blandly, watching as Sherlock’s expression grew tenser as he deduced John’s next words, “I can’t come along today, Sherlock, I have a shift at the surgery,” John explained cautiously, watching Sherlock’s enthusiasm dim slightly at the prospect of John’s unavailability.

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but shut it with a snap, shaking his head as he realized the futility of arguing about John locum work _again_.

John felt his stomach tighten at the look of dejection on Sherlock’s face, and after a moment, an idea came to mind.

“What If I go to work, but I take the afternoon off and meet you at the crime scene or where you are then?” John asked casually, watching as Sherlock’s eyes brightened and he beamed, and while his grin would have been off-putting to anyone else, John saw the child liked excitement in Sherlock’s eyes at the thought of John joining him.

Even if it was a compromise.

John smiled indulgently up at Sherlock, reminiscing about how adorable his lover always appeared when in his element.

Sherlock caught John’s appreciative stare and looked down bashfully, “that would be acceptable John,” Sherlock responded, his violinist’s fingers catching on the sleeve of his dress shirt as he nervously straightened his sleeves.

As John watched his lover fidget under his stare, a slow grin rose to his face as an inescapable plan entered his mind.

“Before you go, I want you to lean over the couch,” John remarked casually, standing up and stretching in a seemingly unconcerned manner, all the while watching Sherlock predatorily.

“What, but why?” Sherlock queried, nonplussed towards John’s odd request for a moment before realization dawned on him.

The young detective gulped deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he shuffled slowly over to the couch and gracefully draped his upper body across the armrest, leaving his full bum deliciously outlined in his bespoke trousers.

John disappeared into the bedroom for a moment before emerging with a small purple plug in his hand. Sherlock shuddered in anticipation; perspiration beginning to gather on his lean body while sparks of arousal shot from his groin at the sight of the teasing implement.

While the width of the plug was nothing startling, certainly leaner than John’s own cock by far, the teasing curve of the device is what lended itself to Sherlock’s dreading arousal. The very tip of the device would rest directly beneath his prostate, nudging unendingly on the sweet spot with every jostling step which would cause Sherlock to spend the day in agonizing arousal and fulfillment.

“J-John, I must-“ but any protest that would be uttered by Sherlock was cut off by his sudden gasp as John swiftly pulled down his trousers to rest just below his bum.

Of course Sherlock was going commando, the slutty prat.

The position left nothing to the imagination, Sherlock’s bum resting high in the air and parted just enough to tease John with a view of his clenching hole lying just between the plush folds of his arse.

“ _Mmm,_ I simply adore this view, love,” John commented lightly, patting him on the bum while his blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he poured lube onto his thick fingers, rubbing them together to warm the slippery liquid before beginning to nudge just against Sherlock’s exposed pucker.

Sherlock, despite being unable to see John and his actions, whined low in his throat as he faced his exciting and humiliating predicament.

“John, everyone will _know_ ,” Sherlock huffed out, glancing down to gaze at his erect cock that would be clearly visible if he remained aroused through the day. Which he would, undoubtedly.

“Well, that is just a risk we will have to take,” John teased, drawing one finger in and out now with aching slowness, nudging lightly against the bottom of Sherlock’s prostate and causing the man to squirm slightly in his awkward position.

"When you are searching for that precious rose, I want you to remember that the only rose I care about is winking at me, and drawing me in, as we speak," John said, smiling at Sherlock's embarrassed huff as he continued to slowly draw his finger in and out of Sherlock's flushed rosebud. 

One finger, then two, and then three- stretching, nudging, seeking. All went questing in Sherlock arse, drawing in slowly and withdrawing too soon, leaving the young detective feeling quite unsatisfied and frustrated under the capable hands of his controlling lover. His arousal was a constant thrumming in his abdomen, and no amount of wiggling allowed him any relief. 

Finally, after what felt like an age to Sherlock and far too soon for John, Sherlock felt the tip of the plug being pressed against his slick hole, his body accepting the intrusive object without question to fill the ache left from John’s fingers.

Up, up, up the plug went until it finished with a _pop_ \- seating itself inside the detective.

Sherlock wiggled around, clenching and gasping as the plug tickled his already frazzled nerve endings and remained locked, immovable, inside his most private place, the place that only John had ever explored. And now, John had connected nearly all his sexual desires and experiences to his aching bum, causing his hole to become ravenous for John's touch on a daily basis. And John knew it. 

Oh, it was _torturous_. 

As Sherlock adjusted to the object, John pulled his pants back up and helped Sherlock to stand, allowing his lover to brace against his chest as a support once he was standing on wobbly legs like a colt learning to stand.

“J-John, _oh_ , it’s rubbing- _oh_ ,” Sherlock groaned, his hips rocking without his coherent knowledge as he chased the sensations of rocking against the plug and stimulating his sweet spot inside.

John smirked; holding his lover around the waist and trailing a hand down to lightly grasp Sherlock’s erect cock, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“You will not remove this plug, nor will you come, until I say so. You can beg, plead, and act as sinfully slutty as you wish, grinding on me and acting utterly wanton, but I control your pleasure,” John growled lowly, rubbing his hand against Sherlock’s erect cock while pressing his own aroused manhood between the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, pressing the plug in further and reveling in Sherlock’s high moan.

“Y- _Yes_ , oh god!” Sherlock agreed, relaxing back into John’s hold and allowing his lover to grope his body for a few moments more.

John turned Sherlock around, gazing up at him with equal parts adoration and lust shining in his mischievous eyes. John wondered for a moment how he was so lucky as to be the man to tame Sherlock Holmes.

John leaned up to gently trail his lips over the plump lips of his detective, sucking lightly on his lower lip and nibbling slightly, smirking at Sherlock’s tentative returning kisses. How the man was still so shy despite their many sexual adventures together so far, John would never know, but he found Sherlock’s bashfulness endearing.

It much more rewarding to tease Sherlock and bring out his brilliant blush.

“Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes,” John whispered after a final peck, patting Sherlock’s arse firmly once more and smirking at his moan, the slight movement having pushed the plug against his sensitive prostate.

Sherlock shakily retreated to the door, walking slowly and still unable to escape his arousing torment.

It was going to be a long day.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> Once again, I apologize for the wait [insert reasoning about work, daily life, and generic reasons here].But honestly, I'm glad to be back and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!  
> Cheers!  
> Warnings: blowjob, edging, sexual frustration abounding ;)

Sherlock shifted awkwardly where he stood at the crime scene, lightly hopping from foot to foot and using his coat to cover his burgeoning erection. The natural heat of the June day paired alongside the unusually high humidity levels made wearing his thick Belstaff nearly unbearable in the oppressive heat.

Nearly.

Grasping the sides of his thick coat, he wrapped it around his bony torso and ducked his head to hide his flushed cheeks and tented trousers from the prying eyes of Lestrade.

“Sherlock? Are you sure you’re okay? You look sick, mate,” Lestrade said, walking over to Sherlock with a creased brow and his usual paternal concern. Sherlock wanted desperately to shake the man to leave him alone, that he was _fine_ , but he knew that the additional irate temperament would lead to further concern.

Ridiculous D.I.s

Lesrade, unaware of Sherlock’s inner turmoil, grasped his arm and looked at him steadily, “Sherlock, take off that bloody great coat! It’s too hot outside to bother looking posh,” Lesrade chuckled, and Sherlock groaned in annoyance and not a small amount of arousal.

No such luck, it would seem, in escaping Lestrade’s notice. Sherlock tensed in realization and gripped his coat tighter, using his battle armor to hide his shameful condition before sniffing haughtily.

“I am fine, Lestrade, merely concentrating on the task at hand,” Sherlock bit out, trying desperately to achieve his usual arrogant tone and falling miserably short, his slightly voice ringing higher and more breathless rather than low and commanding.

He was grateful that Donovan and Anderson were nowhere in sight.

The plug was absolute torture against his sensitive, swollen prostate. Every brief movement nudged just over his sweet spot, sending pulsations through his groin and filling his manhood in turn.

John was no help, texting him intermittently throughout the morning.

_God, I wish I could see you right now. The great Sherlock Holmes, quivering with need in from of Scotland Yard’s finest._

And-

_What do you think they would say, Sherlock, if they could see you? I bet they would be equally amused and aroused. You are a specimen, even if you’re also a git._

And-

_Is your hole twitching for me, little one? I wish I could see it. Actually, no, I wish I could taste it. You bent over the boot of a police car, your coat up over your back and your trousers pulled down. Unable to close your cheeks all the way to hide the plug just sticking out. I would put my mouth over your pucker and lave it with kisses, wouldn’t that be something?_

And on and on and on…. Horribly lewd messages that set Sherlock’s body aflame further- his blood pumping steadily to his groin and his reddened hole- the pulsations resonating over the held open pucker, nerves dancing, causing Sherlock unending awareness to his bum.

He had almost come twice since arriving at the crime scene, but was always able to control his transport at the last moment, channeling thoughts of John and his potential disappointment if Sherlock were to come without permission.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he would sigh deeply, his eyes darkening, “ _I thought you could control yourself better than this. I’m disappointed._ ” John’s few words would cause a torrential amount of guilt on Sherlock’s part, and the two men would be down heartened to know their game was cut short.

Still, the urge to relief his frenzied body was tempting. Just by moving his foot slightly and nudging his bum just a little to the right-

“ _Ohh-“_ Sherlock gasped out, feeling the unrelenting rub of the plug on his sweet spot and unable to stop his guttural moan, causing Lestrade and several officers to peer at Sherlock strangely and with varying degrees of trepidation. Sherlock bit his lip and flushed deeply in mortification.

Can they tell? Do they know that I’m aroused? Oh God, think, _think_ …. Sherlock’s mind raced, trying to find a way to deflect attention from his moan. Deflect attention.

Sherlock peered over the crime scene distractedly, willing the blush from his cheeks, before his mind began racing.

Wait. Deflecting _attention_ , of course. Yes! Oh, that’s brilliant.

“Ohh, I’ve got it!” Sherlock quickly announced, drawing out the _‘Ohh’_ purposefully and internally sighed in relief as the looks of confusion morphed into usual looks of distain and begrudging acceptance from Scotland Yard’s Finest. Sherlock Holmes was merely solving another case.

Sherlock took a deep breathe, his catlike eyes gleaming as he began to explain: “The rose you’re after is worth nearly 2 million pounds, so the person who stole the rose is obviously interested in it for monetary value, but also for the rarity it possesses, and the fact that it is important enough to warrant Scotland Yard’s somewhat lax attention” Sherlock paused, childlike excitement in his voice as he looked for comprehension on the face of Lestrade.

Seeing no such look, Sherlock continued, irritation coloring his tone, “well, obviously 2 million pounds could easily be stolen from just about any bank, online hackers, transfer, complete. It’s almost poetic in simplicity, as crimes go.” he smirked, “in fact, I’ve cataloged how easily it would be to rob a bank in London, and honestly,” Sherlock shrugged, “you should up your security in the financial district, for Queen and country and all-“

“Sherlock,” Lestrade huffed impatiently, pacing towards the consulting detective, “stay on track, please. The rose, what does that have to do with the bank?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and with a scowl continued, “Oh please, even a child could solve this case. The rose was taken to distract from the real crime. The men who stole the rose are planning to break into the Bank of England when all of Scotland Yard’s finest were busy looking for a rare, 2 million pound rose.”

Lestrade looked puzzled for another moment before his phone began ringing.

“Yes, this is Lestrade- wait- what? How-“ Lestrade looked at Sherlock’s knowing grin and sighed, “yes, I’m bringing the team over. Did you happen to find the Belington Rose? Yes, alright, ta very much,” he clicked off the phone and dropped it back in his pocket with a sigh.

“Alright everyone, Bank of England, stat” Lestrade ordered gruffly, ignoring Sherlock’s glee and dismissing the young detective with a wave of his hand.

“You’re right, as usual, Sherlock. Now, off you go. Where’s John anyway?”

“Right here,” John voiced echoed from behind Sherlock, causing the detective to gasp and turn around quickly, forgetting about his predicament and gasping in response to the quick movement over his prostate. 

Gooseflesh had risen on his pale body, and his cheeks suffused with color as John continued to pace towards him in his usual unremarkable manner, wearing a hideous cream jumper.

Sherlock felt his heart pound in his ears as he looked at him, John.

“Hello love, looking a bit flushed, ay?” John asked innocently, leaning up to press a kiss against Sherlock’s smooth cheek and nipping lightly.

Sherlock’s small whimper was drowned out by Lestrade’s booming voice,” Oh, thank _God_ you two finally pulled your heads out of your arses! Honestly,” he chuckled, “I’m glad to see you together, after all this time. It suits you,” he winked at Sherlock and turned back to his team, leaving the two men on the fringes of the crime scene.

John turned to Sherlock, his blue eyes dancing in the sunlit day, “and how have we been behaving today? No accidents?” He asked in a normal tone, as if the two were talking about what to have for dinner, and his nonchalance about Sherlock’s quaking need irritated the strung out man.

“Yes, John, I’ve been a perfect angel.” He said while rolling his ever-changing eyes, “Solved the case, and all that. Now please, _please_ let me come,” Sherlock whispered, glancing around self-consciously to ensure no one could overhear the two men.

John pretending to think for a moment, rocking back on his heels and clasping his calloused hands behind his back,” hmm, while you _do_ paint a pretty picture, as always, I think were going to have to see how well behaved you can be while we get home.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but saw John’s blue eyes steel themselves for a swift and thorough punishment. Sherlock gulped and nodded, his head lolling to the side and secretly wishing he could drop to his knees right there and let John guide him into his submissive headspace.

“It’s alright, love, I believe you’ve been good. You’re just frustrated. We're going to take care of that, hmmm,” John cooed, leaning up to kiss Sherlock’s neck once, chastely, and feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips.

Grabbing his hand, John pulled Sherlock back to the main road and hailed a cab, watching the detective fidget as the plug drove him to distraction. John’s lips twitched as he saw Sherlock pull his coat tighter to cover his arousal.

Truthfully, John was surprised and delighted that Sherlock had managed to avoid coming for such a long period of time. His endurance was growing steadily as they continued to explore their sex life. John smiled as he slide into the cab first, watching Sherlock bite his plump lower lip to hold in a whimper of arousal as he sat on the plug, pushing it further into his already invaded body.

John was going to have a marvelous time drawing out his arousal until Sherlock was utterly quaking and crying with need.

“J-John, I can’t much longer,” Sherlock whimpered, curling in on himself as the rocking cab continued to batter away at his already frazzled nerves and arousal, the plug shifting over his sweet spot with every jostled. Sherlock bit his lips roughly, the cupid’s bow turning red under his ministrations. His coat had long since hung open, revealing his tented trousers, and John nearly came at the sight of Sherlock attempting to control his transport, and utterly failing. 

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m right here,” John murmured, sliding over to Sherlock’s side and gathering the detective in his arms, ignoring the huff from the cabbie, “we are almost home. Just a little while longer.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, he merely closed his eyes and grasped John’s hand, holding it, and John, close to his body.

Despite the heat of the day, and his lingering fatigue from work, John allowed the detective to hold him in a vice grip while he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.

They rode back to back to Baker St. in silence, John throwing a few notes at the cabbie before hopping out of the car, watching a quivering Sherlock do the same, only slower.

John allowed Sherlock to walk ahead of him through the door, the air tensed with adrehiline and anticipation, and as soon as the door closed, John turned to find Sherlock on his knees, his mouth opened and wet with saliva.

“P-Please, John, please-“ Sherlock rambled, his eyes glassy with pleasure. John growled lowly in his throat.

Alright then, so much for drawing out pleasure.

“What do you want, sweet boy?” John asked kindly, reaching down to tuck a curl behind his ear, and Sherlock began pawing at the slightly tented front of John’s trousers like an untrained puppy.

Well then.

“Unzip me, and then use your mouth. No sucking, only kisses right now,” John instructed lowly, and Sherlock’s face sank into gratefulness as he carefully unzipped John and took out his manhood from his trousers, his cock hardening in the detective’s skillful hands.

Sherlock just looked for a moment, watching the cock flush with blood and harden with want, and felt a thrill that he was still able to cause this reaction from John. John _wanted_ him.

Sherlock leaned forward and began gently kissing the bulbous head of John’s prick, dipping his tongue in the slit and gently licking at the moisture there.

“Mmm, _yesss_ ” John hissed as Sherlock continued to lave kisses up and down his cockhead, slowly moving down to his shaft.

John looked down and their eyes met, Sherlock continuing to kiss, no, _worship_ John’s cock from his place in the entranceway of 221B, and John had never seen a more beautiful sight in all his days.

Truly, he loved this man.

Sherlock moaned in delight, distracting John from his sentimental musings, the vibrations moving from his lips to John’s cock, and suddenly the man could take no more teasing.

“Suck me, now,” John demanded, grasping a fistful of Sherlock’s hair and gently rubbing, knowing how sensitive Sherlock’s hair follicles are and using the knowledge to his advantage. Sherlock grasped the end of John’s member and began to sink his mouth slowly down, until over half of John’s impressive cock was sheathed in the wet, velvety heat.

“Look at you, Sherlock, sucking me off in the entranceway of our flat. What if someone walks in?” John bit out, biting back moans as Sherlock’s plush mouth sucked gently and then roughly on his prick, Sherlock’s other hand gently massaging his balls.

Sherlock was quickly becoming an expert, and John found it difficult to stifle his moans. But Sherlock had been a good boy, and deserved praise, and so he soldiered on. 

“Would they see a genius detective? No, they would see _my_ submissive, being an angel and following directions like a good boy,” John cooed, continuing to stroke Sherlock’s hair in a soothing manner.

Sherlock hummed, his eyes half closed in pleasure, and John realized that Sherlock was rubbing against his leg.

John smirked, “Oh, so that’s how it is? My little cocksucker is desperate to get off? I bet you could just from this, sucking me and rubbing against me, your little hole plugged up and sensitive.” Sherlock moaned around John’s cock as he began to rock harder, and John’s balls began to tighten at the sight. He clenched Sherlock’s hair tighter in a sign of possessiveness.

Sherlock arousal began it's final peak towards completion, his lips the same shade as his ruddy cheeks, his curls mussed. He looked utterly debased and debauched. 

Time for one final blow: “my little slut, how I adore your lips around my cock. I’m going to use you as my little cockwarmer from now on, and you’ll love it because you’re _mine_ , Sherlock. And you always will be. Now come.” John demanded, watching as Sherlock began to orgasm.

“Hmm- _mmhmm_ ,” Sherlock’s eyes closed as he continued to rhythmically rock against John’s leg, coating he insides of his trousers with his essence and clenching around the plug, each pulsation resonating in his groan and drawing out his pleasure.

John watched the young detective orgasm around his cock, his throat constricting with his cries, causing John’s orgasm to erupt. He spilled down Sherlock’s creamy throat as he experienced rapturous pleasure at the hands of his lover.

Sherlock continued to suckled at John’s cockhead lazily while the two men came down from their pleasure high. John removed his hand that was still resting on Sherlock’s curly head and helped the man to his feet.

Both men leaned against the foyer wall, panting and willing their heartbeats to settle.

“That _-that_ was the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” Sherlock gasped out, unable to believe he had just sucked John off in their hallway, where anyone could have seen. Mrs. Hudson, the mailman, Mycroft-thank small mercies that hadn’t happened.

“Yes, and you once stole a head from the morgue,” John responded with a sigh.

The two men looked at one another from the corners of their eyes and burst into breathless giggles.

Just another day at 221B. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it is pride month, the next chapter will feature some sort of pride festivities which the boys will engage in, because I love pride month and what it represents for the LGBTQ+ community.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literature-orgasms below. Pride will be next and after that, who knows!  
> Cheers,  
> DPS

"John, I need it, give it to me," Sherlock whined, annoyed at John's lack of attention in the early morning at 221B. 

"Sherlock, no, we talked about this-"

"JOHN, please. I can't think without it. I'm desperate; I'm on my knees. I know how much you love me on my knees..."

"That's enough; Sherlock, you're doing really well, don't give in now." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flung his body from his place on the floor in order to lounge- or mope, rather- on the couch, his catlike eyes narrowed at John's relaxed form sitting in his armchair, filling out paperwork from the surgery, oblivious and uncaring in the face of Sherlock's turmoil. 

Sherlock was desperately horny, aching and needy, but John was determined to do his work rather than, well, do Sherlock. 

"John," Sherlock tried again, his tone lowering to be more beseeching, his eyes widening as he licked his lips slowly to gain John's waning attention. John watched Sherlock's antics from the corner of his eye, biting back his first instinct to stalk over to the mulish man and give his delectable mouth something to do. 

He really needed to finish his paperwork. But, denying Sherlock anything was difficult these days, especially when he was practically salivating for John's cock. 

"Sherlock, go to our room, take off your clothes and kneel by the bed," John gave in with a sigh, "I will finish this paperwork, then I will put you under, alright lovely?"

Sherlock's entire frame shuddered from where it lay sprawled on the couch, and he lowered his eyelashes to avoid John's penetrating gaze. With a shy nod, Sherlock stood up and began to walk to their bedroom. 

"Mmhm, did I say you could walk?" John reprimanded lightly, not looking up from his papers. 

At those seemingly innocent words, Sherlock felt a bolt of heat rush down his spine and felt a blossoming of warmth cover the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He slowly lowered himself down onto the floor, his scarlet silk dressing gown fanning out around him as he settled on all fours and began crawling, avoiding John's smirk as he watched the detective out of the corner of his eye.  

Sherlock entered the bedroom, covered in morning sunshine and the smell of both him and John intermingling in the air. The comforting environment settled his racing mind as he began the slow process of stripping off his clothes. Folding them neatly, Sherlock settled on the floor by the foot of the bed, lowing his head and preparing himself to wait. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock's boredom began to rise, as well as his frustrated arousal, and his mind began to race with memories of his and John's many adventures over the past three months. One particular memory stood out from the rest, and Sherlock remembered each heartbeat, shiver, and trickle of sweat in his tangible mind palace. 

Sherlock groaned and resisted the urge to touch himself, his mind replaying the memory in cruel, unending detail.

* * *

 John entered the bedroom, sighing deeply after another long day of work at the surgery, to find Sherlock sound asleep on the bed, face down and breathing deeply. His curls were fanned out on the soft pillows that he was hugging with his graceful arms, his pink, pouting mouth parted slightly and glistening in the darkness of the bedroom. 

 The fact that he was wearing a black corset, and a pair of lacy black underwear that were digging into the crevice of his bum deliciously was just an added bonus.

The good doctor licked his lips and pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture in the twilight laden bedroom, wanting to preserve the sweet sight of his love looking simultaneously sensual and adorable all at once. 

The sleeping young man began to stir, sensing he was not alone in the room, his eyes blearily opening to see John standing a few feet away, a look of awe and all consuming hunger on his face. 

“Oh, J-John, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Sherlock stammered, his voice somewhat laden from sleep, and John watched in fascination as Sherlock began to sit up and fell back on his stomach immediately, gasping at the confining corset around him and at John’s lust-filled stare. Blushing, he glanced down at himself, tracing one long fingered hand down his side with a timid expression donning on his youthful visage.

John’s eyes zeroed on his prominently displayed bum, the corset arching his back and making his creamy cheeks appear more lush were they stood out against the black lace of his panties. Sherlock watched John’s blue eyes take in Sherlock arse and his face flushed anew.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises tonight, love,” John’s low voice echoed through the quiet room, and Sherlock’s bum rose slightly higher in invitation. John shook his head with a chuckle, his pants feeling significantly tighter against his burgeoning erection, but he held back. He wanted to drive Sherlock mad with pleasure before taking his fill.

Without a word, John turned and went back out into the sitting room. Sherlock sat on the bed in confusion. Did John not like the outfit? Sherlock dismissed that hastily formed conclusion immediately, having seen John’s pupils dilate and the badly hidden half-erection in his work trousers.

Before Sherlock could panic any further, John reentered the room, carrying- wait, was that a book of poetry?

Sherlock watched, his forehead crinkled in confusion, as John came over to the bed and lead down, placing a kiss onto Sherlock’s curly head and pressing the tattered book into his hands.

“I marked three pages of poems that I want you to read aloud, once I give you permission,” John said gently, pressing a firm hand against Sherlock’s back to settle the tensed detective. Sherlock nodded his assent, and John began to pepper tickling kisses up and down the back of Sherlock’s neck and arms.

John took a pillow, amidst the kisses, and lifted Sherlock’s hips, settling the pillow beneath and leaving the detective’s creamy bum prominently displayed, and leaned down to press a kiss on each cheek, smiling slightly and Sherlock’s groan of arousal at the too-chaste kisses.

“Begin now, Sherlock,” John commanded in his Captain Watson voice, and Sherlock shuddered deeply, hastening to obey as he opened the aged book, turning swiftly to the first page as he felt John settling between his parted legs and gently tugging down his lacy panties. Sherlock bit his lip in anticipation, unable to see anything but the words on the page, and he began to read aloud:

 _We two boys together clinging_  
_One the other never leaving_  
_Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,_  
_Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,_

At that point, John leaned forward and parted Sherlock’s cheeks to reveal his pink entrance. Blowing gently on the quivering hole, his hands began massaging Sherlock’s bum slowly, savoring.

John cleared this throat pointedly, and Sherlock continued, breathing faster in anticipation:

  
_Arm’d and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,_  
_No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,_  
_Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,_  
_Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,_  
_Fulfilling our foray._

John rewarded Sherlock with a soft, wet kiss on his perineum, and Sherlock’s back arched slightly despite begin confined in the corset, whining lowly in his throat for more as John’s kisses dried on his sensitive skin.

John chuckled at Sherlock’s barely hidden desperate, “continue reading, love, or you wont receive any reward,” John instructed with a sharp slap on Sherlock right cheek, marveling at the high pitched whine of arousal mingling with pain.

Sherlock held his head up from where it had fallen on the pillow and flipped the worn pages with trembling fingers until he discovered the next marked page.

“Really, John? Even for you, this is a bit romantic,” Sherlock scoffed, attempting and failing to ignore the way his heart raced at the poem John chose.

“Shh, love, you know this is how I feel about you. Shakespeare merely expresses it more eloquently,” John explained with a smirk in his voice, parting and closing Sherlock’s arse cheeks teasingly, “now read.”

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

Sherlock huffed at that, and internally John had to agree, Sherlock was not known to be temperate. However, Sherlock was too lucid if he was still poking fun at the poems.

To rectify this, John parted Sherlock’s cheeks, licked his lips, and placed his wet, hungry mouth over Sherlock’s inviting pucker, revealing in Sherlock yelp of surprise. John began to kiss; slowly, intimately, in every way he knew Sherlock adored while humming.

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, “Oh, John, God”_

_And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;_

_Sometime too hot- “Ahhh- ngghnn”- the eye of heaven shines,_

_And often is his- OH- gold complexion dimm'd;_

_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

_By chance or nature’s changing course-“J-John, please, stop!” - untrimm'd;_

_But thy eternal summer shall not f-fade,_

_Nor lose possession-AHH- of that fair thou ow’st;_

_Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,_

_When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:_

_So long as men can breathe-“please, please, please”- or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. “Oohhhh- JOHN”_

John continued his assault through Sherlock’s orgasm, ignoring his cries to stop as he continued to ruthlessly plunder his hole with sloppy kisses, suckling on the rim and kneading his goosebump-covered thighs.

Wriggling his tongue into the tight channel laying before him like a meal before a starving man, John relentlessly pleasured Sherlock, sucking at the sensitive rim and refusing to stop even after Sherlock’s cries died down into oversensitive whines.

John finally sat back to appreciate his hard work, watching the slightly gaping hole proudly while listening to Sherlock’s breathless whine as he attempted to suck in enough oxygen despite the confining corset keeping him at John’s mercy.

“Keep reading, sweetheart,” John commanded, not unkindly, as he reached beneath the bed to pull out their toy chest. Sherlock listened to the rustling behind him, and with a nervous gulp, turned the pages to the final poem and began, blinking several times to focus on the words:

_I loved you first: but afterwards your love_

_Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song_

_As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove._

 Sherlock heard a soft whirring behind him, and took in a shaky breath, trying to see the words on the page through his lust-filled gaze.

  _Which owes the other most? my love was long,_

_And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;_

 Sherlock felt the light, tickling vibrations against his toungued-open hole, and gasped at the feeling against his wet pucker.

_I loved and guessed at you, you construed me_

_And loved me for what might or might not be –_

_Nay, weights and measures- “John, please, again, again”- do us both a wrong._

_For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’_

_With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done,_

“Who do you belong to, Sherlock?” John asked, interrupting Sherlock’s shaking voice as he continued to thrust the thick vibrator lazily into Sherlock, ignoring Sherlock wriggling attempts to escape.

The corset kept him in place, his shaking causing his hips to sway and his plump cheeks to jiggle slightly with each movement, much to John’s enjoyment.

“Y-you, John,” Sherlock responded, crying out as John angled the vibrator to graze against Sherlock’s prostate with each agonizing thrust.

John thrust the vibrator in fully and left in there for a moment, grabbing his phone to take a picture of the detective, the black vibrator between his cheeks, his legs splayed wide and open for John to see, his back intricately laced in the corset while his curly head was barely held up to read from the book grasped in both hands.

Beautiful, simply stunning, and all mine, John thought to himself as he lovingly reached a hand up to fiddle with the silky strings of the corset and listening to Sherlock’s begs for release.

 John kissed his arsecheeks sweetly and nudged him to continue.

_For one is both and both are one in love:_

_Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’_

_Both have the strength and both the length thereof,_

_Both of us, of the love which makes us one._

John bit down on Sherlock cheeks just as he increased the vibrations, listening to Sherlock fall apart once again, staining the pillow beneath his hips with his release.

John bit down on Sherlock cheeks just as he increased the vibrations, listening to Sherlock fall apart once again, staining the pillow beneath his hips with his release. John leaned up, lying across Sherlock's back and rocking between Sherlock's cheeks, listening to Sherlocks pitiful moans as he clenched his cheeks to help create friction against John's manhood. John groaned deeply, carefully spilling between his lover's cheeks to avoid dripping on the corset in his fervent desire for the younger man.

After a few moments of silence to allow the men to catch their breath, John cleared this throat somewhat self consciously. 

"Those poems, that is how I feel about you, Sherlock. I do, I love you, always" John whispered, kissing just below Sherlock ear.

Sherlock shuddered, his body hyper-senstive, and mumbled "love you too" before succumbing to the darkness of sleep. 

* * *

 

Sherlock woke from his memories in his mind palace, his arousal dripping between his legs and hearing John's voice calling to him.

"-lock, Sherlock? Can you hear me, sweetheart?" John asked, crossing the bedroom swiftly to push Sherlock curls back and lift his chin to meet his eyes. Sherlock blinked in confusion for a few moments before he realized he was back in the present. 

"Oh, good, where do you go in your mind, love?" John wondered aloud, stroking Sherlock's hair gently, "and just what were you doing there?" He asked faux-sternly, narrowing his eyes on Sherlock who had a string of pre-cum connecting his cock to the bedpost, the crime obvious enough for even John to work out. 

Sherlock blushed and looked down, "would you believe me if I said nothing?" He asked, adopting his most innocent expression. John shook his head, biting back a smile and failing as he looked down at his naughty boy.

"Sherlock, you know better than to touch yourself without permission. You know what that means," John said, moving over to the bed and sitting down, patting his lap seriously but with a twinkle in his eyes. 

Sherlock got up and gracefully draped himself across John's muscular thighs, purposefully rubbing his cock against John's trousers to smear pre-com on them, earning himself a sharp smack. Sherlock gasped in pleasure and pain, his cock throbbing and his arse aching for John's fingers, tongue, cock and any combination of the three. 

John spanked him again and Sherlock smiled secretly to himself as he laid his head against the bed to hide his blushing cheeks and devious smile; after all, he finally earned John's attention.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Poem: “We Two Boys Together Clinging” by Walt Whitman, thought to have been written about him and the much younger Oscar Wilde, who were rumored to have had an affair in the early 20th century.
> 
> Sonnet 18: Shakespeare, my beloved bisexual….. Need I say more? 
> 
> Poem 3: Christina Rossetti “I loved you first: but afterwards your love” 
> 
> See, who says history and literature has to be boring ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the long awaited Pride chapter! No sex- only fluff and pride :)  
> Cheers!  
> DPS

Sherlock was busy in the bathroom, painting the red stripe to finish the pride flag on his cheek and putting the finishing touches on his outfit.

Sherlock was wearing his usual white button down with fitted black trousers, but he had donned on a fitted rainbow suit jacket to match, as well as painting a small flag on his cheek for extra measure.

When John had suggested going to pride, Sherlock was floored. A few months ago, Sherlock never thought John would be willing to date a man, and now he wanted to go to pride, despite being B-list celebrities who were bound to be seen and outed, in order to show Sherlock off to the world as his partner in every way.

It was a marvel to be sure, but Sherlock was grateful to be with someone who was proud to be with him. With a final swipe of pink lip-gloss, Sherlock nodded at his reflection in the mirror and walked out of the bathroom, searching for John.

“John, are you ready to go?” Sherlock called, and heard John rustling around in the bedroom. Following the sound, Sherlock pushed open the door to find the army doctor wearing tight royal blue pants, Sherlock’s violet button down shirt which was a little tight around the middle but accentuated his arms, and a bright pink cap on top of his head.

Sherlock giggled at John outfit: “really John? A pink hat?”

John stuck his tongue out immaturely in response to Sherlock teasing, “yes, how else will anyone know I’m bi? I needed all the colors, you prat,” John lightly reprimanded, fiddling with his cuffs once more before walking forward to grab Sherlock’s hand, which felt clammy in his own.

“Are you ready to go, sweetheart?” John asked, and Sherlock’s heart caught in his throat for a moment that his proud man; a soldier, a doctor, a hero, was willing to out himself to the world happily, if a little nervously, with Sherlock in tow.

Sherlock nodded gently, and John’s eyes softened at the vulnerable affection shining in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Well then, let’s go love.”

Walking out of Baker Street, the brightly dressed men hailed a cab, who merely raised his eyebrows at their outfits, and went straight to the heart of the pride parade, which was in full swing at Traflgar Square.

Men and women openly holding hands, kissing and dancing as a Drag Queen sang “I Will Survive” over on the stage lit up with hundreds of rainbows.

All the Londoners, young and old, members of the community and allies, were smiling and laughing, hugs were all around as organizers passed out free condoms, dental dams, and pointed out were to get STI tests. It was such a mixture of ethnicities, languages, and experiences.

There was even an LGBTQ+ friendly church passing out cross stickers with rainbows inside. 

John stared at the chaos with wide eyes, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and at peace with this part of his identity for the first time in his entire 35 years of life.

It was a heady feeling, and despite himself he felt a lump forming in the back of his throat as he watched families, lovers and friends go by, all proudly proclaiming their pride in themselves and each other.

John felt at peace, but also untethered. He was raised in an old-fashioned home. He went to church, got good grades, dated pretty girls and went to college. 

This was the first time in his life he was escaping from the narrow path of life he was set out on in order to be "normal." And he loved it, but it scared him.  

In the moment of confusion, the good doctor felt a hand grasping his own, and looking over, he saw understanding and happiness shining in Sherlock’s pale, every changing eyes.

Sherlock, understanding he needed to be the rock, the support, tugged John along behind him as they went to one of the many tents set up. As the two men browsed the many rainbow colored objects, they heard a small shriek echo behind them.

“Oh-Oh my God, it’s Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!” A girl, wearing a pansexual flag around her shoulders, yelled to her friend. The two men turned around upon hearing their names, and the girl waved at them frantically.

“I can’t believe- I just- this is amazing. Are you two together now?” She asked, her eyes full to the brim with hope. John, feeling overwhelmed by the attention they were now receiving from multiple people due to the girl’s outburst, simply nodded, grasping Sherlock’s hand tighter in his own.

“Could I get your picture, I work for a small local LGBTQ+ blog and this breaking news would be great for our media presence.”

Sherlock and John looked at one another, questioningly, before Sherlock shook his head. The girl took out her phone and snapped a few pictures, and feeling bold, John lifted up and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, causing the younger man to flush and duck his head shyly.

“That is utterly fantastic, thank you so much. Congratulations!” She beamed, and as if sensing their slight discomfort, grabbed her friend’s hand and stumbled away, giggling like schoolgirls all the while.

Ignoring the people murmuring around them, Sherlock turned to John with a small smirk, “well, John, how does it feel to be officially out of the closet?”

John looked first at Sherlock and then at the people around them, who were smiling or nodding their approval, and gave a sigh of relief.

“It feels bloody marvelous, actually,” John replied, his spirits running high now that the first moment of admitting and acceptance were over and done with. He didn’t want to hide his and Sherlock’s relationship. He wanted everyone to know that the detective was his, and vice versa.

The two men spent the day eating fruit kebabs from an old lesbian couple, dancing along with the Drag Queen’s singing Karaoke, and laughing uproariously anytime either of them were hit on by an old gay man, which was pretty often.

In the middle of the day, there were thousands of tweets with #Johnlock trending, and people kept stopping them to congratulate the men on their relationship.

They felt like gay royalty.

But, like all good things, the day finally came to an end. The two men were exhausted, but utterly and completely happy at the same time. Content. 

“Seriously,” John giggled as the two men made their way back home, “the man who sprinkled you with glitter and called you a ‘sparkling posh boy’ was the best part of the day.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his curls, watching as glitter fell around the pavement beneath them.

“Yes, well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself at my expense,” Sherlock intoned haughtily, sniffing slightly and trying to hold back a smile. John just giggled again, and before the two men knew it, they were at Baker Street.

They stumbled in and up the stairs, kicking off their shoes at the door and, by unspoken agreement, continued shedding their clothes all the way into the bedroom, exhaustion creeping in.

“Well, John, how about a rousing round of gay sex to solidify our pride festivities?” Sherlock asked, half-joking despite his exhaustion, but John merely smiled and shook his head. Sherlock was surprised, as it wasn't like John to refuse sex, but then again the man had experienced quite a life-altering day of acceptance. 

Lying down, John pulled the thoughtful Sherlock to him and cuddled in, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head and laughing when he felt flecks of glitter settling on his lips.

“Not tonight love, tonight I just want to hold you in my arms and go to sleep. Sweet dreams, Sherlock.” John settled back and squeezed Sherlock tightly, as if to assure himself he was really holding onto the detective, before closing his eyes.

Sherlock’s heart felt full enough to burst, and once he felt John breathing even out, he responded, “Sweet dreams, John.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to my first Pride parade this year, and let me tell you, it was EXTREMELY liberating. I experienced most of these things at my pride parade (but I left out giving money to male strippers and Drag Queens, because our boys are classy, unlike me). Johnlock is about more than just sex to me, they are a representation of my journey to discover who I am, through the original ACD books and the many adaptations, and I wanted to display that in this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all had a wonderful Pride month last month, and I wish you all the best.
> 
> Read on!


	22. Chapter 22

 

Sherlock woke up with a startled gasp, his heart pounding and sweat trickling down his back as he stole a glance over to his companion, who was still fast asleep with his stubble covered cheek resting upon the pillow. In the silence of the morning, Sherlock took in the sight of John, his face relaxed, lightly wrinkled and flushed lightly from sleep, and his heart began to settle slowly from its panicked thumping. 

Remembering his dream, Sherlock suppressed a shiver at the coldness that had seeped into his bones from the darkness of Moriarty’s eyes at the pool, threatening John and, by extension, him. The bomb, the water, the cold.

Even lying with John in the comfort of their warm, cozy bed was not enough to assuage his nervousness that Moriarty would come back from the dead, that he would find them and take John away.

Take John away from him.

Sherlock felt a lump forming steadily in his throat at the distressing thought, and although he tried to stem his anxiousness, his fear continued to rise as his mind raced through the possibilities.

What if Moriarty wasn’t truly gone? What if another criminal in London sought out him or John to enact revenge?

Sherlock was shaken from his dark thoughts by a large, warm hand against his shoulder and turned to see two warm, blue eyes staring drowsily at him.

“Sherlock? Oh, _little one_ , what’s wrong?” John cooed gently, his voice gruff with sleep and his eyes crinkling in concern, somehow instinctively knowing that Sherlock needed comfort. 

At the (embarrassing, stomach fluttering) endearment, Sherlock launched himself into John’s tanned arms, shuddering into his body as he sought out physical comfort that words could not express nor assuage.

As the two men tended to sleep naked, the feeling of John’s bare skin against his own gave Sherlock a rush of sensation as he gripped at John’s muscles to sooth himself.

“I-I,” Sherlock hiccupped, matching the exaggerated breaths John was taking to encourage calm himself down and reorder his thoughts into a semblance of logical order.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could still picture those cold, almost black eyes from his dream.

“Please,” Sherlock answered instead, digging his fingers into John’s chest as John clutched him closely in the dimness and vulnerability of the morning, “just…. Please.”

And John, wonderful, capable John, seemed to know exactly what Sherlock needed. Without another moment, John was unwinding a hand from Sherlock’s slight waist and tilting up his chin, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss that caused Sherlock’s heart to pound in his ears.

Suddenly, the fear from his thoughts and dreams seemed so far away, so inadequate, when compared to John’s gentle kisses in the safety of their bedroom.

“Do you trust me?” John murmured against Sherlock’s lips, biting down on his lower lip gently and smiling into the kiss when Sherlock whimpered, “yes.”

With that John rolled over, pinning Sherlock beneath him and using his weight to cage the young man in. Rather than feeling powerless, Sherlock felt safe with the weight of John covering him, protecting him, and he allowed John to control the kisses they were trading like secrets.

Kiss- I love you.

Kiss- I trust you.

Kiss- I _desire_ you.

A warm hand was trailing down Sherlock’s side, which he ignored in favor of giving back what he received, a nibble here, a lick there, a chaste peck and then a deeper, delving kiss.

John drew Sherlock tongue into his mouth and gave a gentle suck, and Sherlock felt the resulting throb all the way down to his toes, causing them to curl in pleasure.

“ _Ohh_ , John, please,” Sherlock whined, unable to be sure what he truly wanted; he felt like a glutton, begging for more as his mind floated away from all rationality that he normally craved. He was at his basest, most vulnerable and human in these moments that he shared with John.

John leaned back and took in the sight of his detective; his cheeks flushed a pretty rose, his lips reddened and shiny and his hair an absolute mess of curls. Lying there with the stark contrast of his paleness against the red lips and ebony hair, he appeared to be angelic, a wanton creature that was both disarming and enticing.

“You’re beautiful, Sherlock,” John whispered, peppering kisses over those sweet cheeks while grasping Sherlock’s erection in hand, watching as the young man’s face contorted with pleasure.

“So sweet, there is nothing to be afraid of, my darling. I am right here,” John voiced gently, as if understanding Sherlock’s previous fear, and Sherlock felt relief filling his heart as John spoke out his fears and laid them to rest for the moment.

Nuzzling his nose against Sherlock’s for a moment, he continued to stroke Sherlock with teasing upstroke, watching as the younger man fell apart from just a few light touches of his hand.

As soon as Sherlock’s breathing started to come faster, indicating his upcoming release, John formed a tight ring around the base of his cock with his thumb and forefinger, smiling slightly at Sherlock petulant whine.

“Shh, we have to make this last,” John remarked lightly, rolling off of the detective to root under the bed, ignoring Sherlock petulant pout and grumbling about John leaving him “in such a state.”

Well, thought John with a smirk, at least Sherlock was feeling more like himself now.

With that thought, John pulled out the soft black restraints and watched as Sherlock eyes dilated and his hips gave an unconscious shake at the idea of prolonged, torturous pleasure with himself tied up and completely at John’s mercy.

While they had played with bondage before, Sherlock felt that this time would somehow be different. More, perhaps, than ever before.

He shivered in anticipation.

John swiftly tied him up, spreading his nude body across the bed in a vulnerable offering, and Sherlock squirmed consciously as John took in his exposed body. With a small smile, John tightened his leg restraints further, his legs stretching so far apart that his arsecheeks no longer pressed together, but rather his small pucker was exposed to the cool morning air and John's heated gaze. 

Sherlock fought in vain to close his legs with a squeaked, "John, don't look there-" but John did not tear his eyes away from Sherlock's small hole, winking slightly in anticipation and nervousness. 

Sherlock watched, his stomach tightening as John licked his lips without looking away from his hole, and he squirmed and writhed in vain, trying to close his parted cheeks that were revealing his most private place. 

Despite the amount of times he and John had made love, and even engaged in bondage play, he had never felt so exposed. 

He saw John tear his eyes away, looking over to the bedside table. When Sherlock turned his head over to look at what John was searching for, he saw the clock, blinking 10:56 a.m.

"Greg is suppose to be here around 11 to watch the Rugby match," John commented absently, and Sherlock began whining immediately. 

"John, no, tell him to leave off, you're busy, _oh_ -" Sherlock gasped, arching into the warm, wet mouth that was now suckling the head of his cock. John looked up at him through his short, blonde lashes and allowed his saliva to drip down Sherlock's straining cock, giving it one more lazy suck before releasing it from his mouth with a pop. 

Reaching lube covered fingers down, John made short work of preparing Sherlock, stroking just beneath his prostate and wiggling his fingers inside the hot, pink channel, savoring Sherlock's whimpers for more. 

Finally, John picked up Sherlock's newest vibrator, wide with ridges running up and down each side to positively tease the nerve endings inside of him and cause him to go positively limp with pleasure. With no warning, John thrust the vibrator into Sherlock's exposed opening, reveling in his gasps for a moment before turning it on its lowest pulsing setting.

"This vibrator is controlled by this remote," John said, pulling on pants and trousers as he gestured to the small, innocent looking device in his hand, "so I will be controlling the settings from the sitting room while I watch the game, imagining you in hear, trying to stifle your moans and whimpers while I control your body." 

Sherlock felt his eyes dilate further at John's explanation, feeling his body tense as he grew nearer and nearer to orgasm as John explained the delicious torture he had in store for the bound and helpless detective. 

"I will help you out, however," John cooed, reaching behind him to lift up a small gag from their toy box, "this should keep your wagging tongue in check, at least for a while."

John gently fit the gag in his mouth, tightening the strap around his head and curls before he sat back, gazing at his handiwork with a downright gleeful expression that did not befit a man who had just tied up and gagged his boyfriend into submission. 

“How does it feel Sherlock, knowing that I am going to leave you tied up here, gagged and helpless, while I go talk to Lestrade? Look at you,” John tutted lightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “ you’re always so _desperate_ for anything to fill up your ravenous hole, even a bit of plastic can drive you mad,” John chuckled darkly as Sherlock whined, his cheeks pinking further from arousal and embarrassment.

He wished John wouldn’t say such things, now all he could do was picture John sitting with Greg in the sitting room, drinking and chatting, while Sherlock whined and begged for John’s cock from the bedroom like a lust driven animal.

He felt his cheeks and the bridge of his nose begin to blush in embarrassment, much to John's pleasure as he leaned down to give Sherlock's nose a sweet peck in complete contradiction to his sexual prowess. 

Sherlock's body racked with another wave of pleasure and he came uncontrollably, his body flustered from embarrassment and arousal, dripping cum along his chest as John watched, deeply amused at Sherlock’s predicable reaction to his words.

Sherlock closed his eyes in mortification; no matter how many times he came in front of John, the pleasure of his body being John’s to manipulate and control so easily irked and humiliated him. Was he really so predicable?

So easily controlled by John's voice. 

And John simply watched, watched him come all over himself, unable and unwilling to control his body in this way, needing John's guidance and devious expertise to fully relax himself and let go. It was embarrassing, mortifying-

Amazing. 

“Delicious,” John growled, stalking over to lick over Sherlock cum stained abdomen, hearing Sherlock’s sharp inhale at his actions, his abdomen quivering at the ticklish action. John merely peered up at Sherlock through his lashes while he licked his lips, and then spun around and turned to leave the bedroom.

“I’ll just leave this door a bit cracked, shall I?” John asked, ignoring Sherlock’s panicked cries behind the gag, smirking lightly, “and let’s hope our guest isn’t too curious to go looking.”

With that parting slot and a final wink, John felt the bedroom, leaving the door slightly opened to into the sitting room to wait for Lestrade.

Sherlock felt his manhood begin to harden again against his will, the vibrations emanating from his hole sending the nerve endings throughout his body aflame while he pinched his eyes closed in concentration.

He had to be quiet. Quiet. Quiet. 

Distantly, he heard John greeting Lestrade at the door, asking if he wanted a beer in a calm, normal tone, and Sherlock felt his control begin to slip.

At any moment, Lestrade could walk in and see him, flushing down his naked chest from arousal, his cock dripping onto his abdomen and his arse clenching tightly around a vibrator that was forcing him to come again and again from the stimulation alone. 

 With a muffled gasp, Sherlock came once again, painting his stomach further with his essence, and his body shook from overstimulation already.

It was going to be a long afternoon. 

 

* * *

 

 

Out in the living room, John listened half-heartedly to Lestrade explain the latest case down at the yard, when he heard a muffled gasp echo from the hallway. Lestrade cut himself off with a questioning look, "what was that?"

John adopted an innocent expression as he dialed down the remote in his pocket, "no idea, might be the neighbors." 

John stifled a naughty grin by taking a swig from his beer while adjusted his trousers subtly. It was going to be a long afternoon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> I hope you are all well and that you enjoy this short chapter. I am hoping to get more inspiration for this fic, and I have a few more ideas up my sleeve, so don't worry! 
> 
> Thanks,  
> DPS


	23. Chapter 23

 

“Now, young man, what seems to be troubling you today?” John asked, adopting his “I’m-a-nice-doctor” tone as he glanced at the man- no, _boy_ \- sitting on the bed, wearing only a thin paper examination gown with cartoon bees littering the practically translucent fabric. John had already checked his vitals; measured his pulse (elevated), peered into his pupils (dilated) and inwardly diagnosed Sherlock as healthy (aroused). 

The bed itself was stripped down to only a clean white fitted sheet and some matching pillows, and in the center of the room a tray held a series of medical instruments and decidedly _non_ -medical instruments.

The young man in question shuffled his bare feet lightly on the wooden floor, glancing down shyly and avoiding the Doctor’s gaze as he mumbled, “nothing’s the matter, sir.”

“Is that so?” John challenged, his eyebrow shooting up into his silver-blonde hair as he passed another glance down at the young man sitting on the bed, his manner unsure and nervous as a child, his legs and arms bare, his dignity barely covered.

“Well,” Sherlock started, pausing briefly to bite at his lip, thinking for a moment, “I-I feel a little… feverish.”

“Alright, that is just fine, we will have you out in just a mo’. If you could remove your gown and lay torso down on the bed, I’ll take your temperature,” John said, walking over to the sterilized instruments laying on the table and glancing back to Sherlock.

“Why would I have to lay down for you to take my temperature? Don’t you just put the instrument in my ear?” Sherlock puzzled, his forehead creasing and his nose scrunching up in bewilderment.

John adopted a condescending tone and chided, “now, Sherlock, everyone knows that taking temperature anally is best,” biting back a smile at Sherlock’s shocked gasp.

“B-but, aren’t I a bit… old?” Sherlock sputtered, clutching the childish gown between two delicate hands, his cheeks heating and ducking his head, curls tumbling across his forehead.

John smirked, his back to Sherlock as he pulled on a rubber glove with a resounding _snap_.

Sherlock gulped.

“Nonsense,” John argued, “this method is the most effective as it allows the instrument to measure the core temperature. You will have to hold very still, but you’re a big lad, and I am sure you can handle it.”

Sherlock glowered a bit at being called a “big lad,” but when he looked down at the bee’s decorating the thin gown, he conceded that he was, perhaps, a bit childish.

Still, it was mortifying to be reminded, but Sherlock bit back the rest of his protests, knowing they would only lead to a punishment.

“Now, if there are no more protests, please take off your gown and assume the position,” John ordered, popping open a tube of medical grade lubricant and turning around to face the shy patient.

Sherlock stripped off the garment with little fanfare, exposing himself to the chill of the room and John’s hungry gaze as he quickly covered his engorging arousal, sitting back on the bed quickly in order to cover himself, his flush spreading down his chest and ending just above his peaking nipples. John wanted to pinch them red, until Sherlock was gasping and aching for John to lean down and…

He shook himself and his amorous thoughts away, focusing on the dimly lite silhouette of Sherlock on the bed.

He was truly beautiful like this, John thought with an internal sigh of admiration: his lithe muscles straining to keep in his shudders of nervousness and arousal, his skin glowing alabaster in the dim light streaming through the partially closed curtains, and his large, violinist’s hands covering his growing need.

“Should I-“ Sherlock gestured with a free hand, and John nodded; watching as Sherlock gently moved back on the bed and laid himself down, baring his backside to the room. He was covered in goosebumps, even on his bum, and John bit back a chuckle.

_Mmhmm._

John licked his lips as he took in the view of Sherlock’s luscious bottom and shook his head to concentrate, remembering to continue with the game, even if all he wanted to do was slick Sherlock up with his mouth and fingers, plunging himself deep into that well known body until-

John deftly adjusted himself in his trousers, staring at Sherlock pouting mouth in anticipation of those sweet lips, but he quickly coated his fingers in lube to remind himself of the exam.

Utterly naked and trusting as John stood across from him, all business in his doctor’s coat and work attire, stethoscope swinging slightly from his neck and catching Sherlock’s grey eyes from where he was peaking.

Quickly Sherlock turned his face back to bury it in the pillow, most likely preparing to muffle his moans, John thought happily.

“Alright Sherlock, I am going to open you slightly, and then I will insert the thermometer. It needs to stay in until it beeps, so try and stay still. The lube may feel a bit cold,” John remarked, chuckling slightly as Sherlock yelped at the first touch of John’s lube coated finger to his winking entrance.

Quickly and efficiently, John nudged his way inside Sherlock’s tight entrance, and began fingering and rotating his stocky finger, opening Sherlock for the thermometer to come.

“Sir, are you s-sure this is necessary?” Sherlock gasped out, and John saw a flush spreading to the back of his neck where downy curls were gathered. Sherlock was embarrassed to be treated so childishly, and John treating him so coldly only adding to his feelings of nervousness and vulnerability.

“Absolutely, it’ll be over before you know it. Hold still for me now,” John explained in a bored tone, but felt his heart clench when Sherlock began to tense further at John’s seeming disinterest in the proceedings.  

John, taking pity on his little lover, decided to make the exam a little less, well, professional by teasing Sherlock, just a bit.

Sherlock tried to hold himself still, but quickly lost his internal battle when John quickly singled out his prostate and began thrusting against it with each pass of his finger in and out, the rubber an insufferably barrier between Sherlock’s skin and John’s, the impersonal finger moving in and out, finally driving Sherlock to need more, faster, harder-

Suddenly it was over, and Sherlock felt a cold glass rod, at least eight inches long, pressing into his slackened hole.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Sherlock simpered, and could _feel_ John smirking at the back of his head as the cold thermometer settled against the rim of Sherlock’s puckering entrance.

Sherlock’s slender frame shook, the nerve endings around his rim being stimulated as John teasingly rotated the thermometer, pretending to ensure he would receive a proper reading all the while relishing Sherlock’s jolts every time John grazed his enflamed prostate, rocking himself down on the pillow and caught in an endless wave of torture.

“Hmm,” John clucked, looking down at the results blinking on the thermometer with a shaking head.

“Let’s take it once more,” John said, and ignored Sherlock whine as he slowly inserted the long, glass rod back into Sherlock’s bottom, leaving just the tip peaking out between Sherlock’s ripe bottom.

The moment was just too perfect, and John quickly pulled his phone out of his coat pocket to take a picture, ignoring Sherlock’s hissing at being captured in such a degrading manner.

“If I get anymore lip, you’ll have a red bottom to complement that lovely thermometer,” John warned, and Sherlock’s head flopped back down on the bed in defeat. John rocked the thermometer in and out a few more times, angling for Sherlock's prostate and adoring the younger man's frustrated wriggling until the thermometer beeped again and John quickly removed it.

“Well it reads 37.8 C, a little warm if I do say so myself. We will have to do something to bring down your fever,” John remarked idly to himself, and Sherlock almost growled in frustration, wanting John to take him and let him come.

“Well, what do you suggest?” Sherlock sassed, his tone belayed by his embarrassing predicament, and John quickly smacked his right cheek in warning, watching with glee as it bloomed with his handprint. _Mine_. 

“There is one treatment that has proven successful in the past, but it is not for the faint of heart,” John explained with a serious expression, but when Sherlock glanced back to look at him, John’s eyes were glinting playfully.

“Well, Doctor, fix me by whatever means,” Sherlock said, challenge in his voice, as if he did not trust John’s ability to “cure” him. Unlike their previous scenes, Sherlock was not as deeply in subspace as he normally was during their play.

 _Well_ , John thought, _we will see if we can’t fix that, won’t we?_

John walked back over to the instrument table, knowing that Sherlock would be able to hear what he was doing and deduce his intentions fairly quickly.

“What…. Ice? Really John, are you going to put me in an ice bath?” Sherlock scoffed, propping himself up on his elbows to roll his eyes at John annoyingly, giving John a peak at Sherlock arousal lying on his abdomen, hard and aching.

Without another word, John grabbed the bowl of melting ice cubes and placed them on the bed, pushing Sherlock down with a strong, firm hand between his shoulder blades and watching the young man acquiesce with a huff, lowering himself back down on the white bed and stretching himself out lazily like a cat. 

John took a piece of ice into his mouth, and with a glint in his blue eyes, leaned down and held Sherlock’s cheeks open, blowing a chilled breath directly onto Sherlock’s hole, watching as the mixture of the ice and the heat from his mouth created steam against Sherlock’s sensitive opening.

Sherlock, unsuspecting of this new type of torment, practically leapt off the bed, and John reached forward to settle his hands against Sherlock's hips and gripping them hard enough to leave bruises. With that, he buried his face back into Sherlock's plush arse, and kept blowing cold air between Sherlock's jiggling bum. 

Sherlock felt John smile between his cheeks, and his heart began to race even faster, his mind already comprehending John's next act of sensual torture. 

“John! Wait, don’t-“

Without a pause, John latched his freezing lips around the rim of Sherlock’s entrance, and began to push the ice cube uncaringly into Sherlock’s sensitive passageway, the flushed walls opening unwillingly against the melting ice cube.

" _OHHH,_ " Sherlock yelped at the overwhelming sensation of the ice entering his body, quickly melting due to his body’s rising temperature. The ice-cold water trickled out of his stretched hole and ran slowly down the crevice of his arse to pool beneath him on once clean, medical sheets. Sherlock tried to escape to no avail, help by John's hands on his hips at first and then by John instructions to "stay still or else." 

John repeated the process over and over, at one point five ice cubes being pushed into the entrance simultaneously. At that point, Sherlock was utterly senseless, begging and pleading for John to _stop_ , all the while rocking against the bedspread like an animal in heat, his body begging to be taken higher even as his mouth betrayed his desperation. 

"J-John, sir, please, I'll do anything, _ahh,_ " Sherlock's voiced cracked when an ice cube popped out and John's thumb quickly popped it back in, holding his thumb against his rim to ensure no more ice cubes escaped Sherlock's naughty rosebud. John watched as the water trickled out, settling around his cold fingers and leaked down onto the sheets. John flexed his fingers slightly, feeling the sting of the cold and imagining the sheer torment Sherlock was feeling, his inside bombarded by the sensation. 

But all the while John sat there, between Sherlock's legs, watching with a mischievous expression as Sherlock’s body warred between sensations of arousal and discomfort.

“Color, darling,” John called out in an authoritative voice, and Sherlock croaked out, “g-green,” his shivering body beginning to settle down as the last vestiges of the ice cube faded into nothing but the memory of internal sensation.

With that, John unbuckled his trousers, freeing his hard member and giving it a few strokes while Sherlock moaned beneath him, his insides stinging and aching from the cold torment. Without preamble, John held Sherlock's goose-bump covered cheeks apart and nudged his erection against the wet opening.

“Such a good little one, always wet for me, ready for me to sink deep inside at a moments notice, there's a good boy, Sherlock,” John voiced over Sherlock’s whimpers as John began to slowly sink inside his entrance, the lingering cold from the ice enveloping his throbbing cock and causing a groan to pass unbidden from his lips.

John kept effusing endearments, and Sherlock flushed predictably, adoring the feeling of John member entering him inexorably, warming the chill lingering inside and cementing their bond to one another. Playing was always fun, but nothing could compare to John's touch, John's love, _John_. 

"Ahh, Oh, John, this feels-" Sherlock cut himself off with a moan, arching his back to envelope all of John faster, the two men moaning in unison. 

John rested his hips against Sherlock plush bum for a moment, allowing Sherlock to adjust to his large member before beginning to rock his hips shallowly back and forth, lovingly, pushing Sherlock’s erection onto the bed and smear his precum against the white, medical sheets and listening to their intermingling breaths.

 “ _J-John_ , please!” Sherlock begged, his back glistening with sweat. John reached a hand up to toy with the curls on the back of his head, and pulled up sharply, and delicate follicles being teased causing Sherlock to shatter beneath him as he came, rocking wildly against the sheets in ecstasy as he stained the sheets beneath him with his release.

Skimming his hands along Sherlock's outstretched arms, John entangled their fingers and anchored them together, hand to hand, intimately connected and warming one another from the ice as Sherlock came beneath them. John, unable to control himself while Sherlock was spasming around his throbbing cock, came moments later, plunging himself deeply into Sherlock and locking himself there, moving his hips in circular motions and keeping his member encased in the inviting heat of Sherlock’s body.

The only sound echoing in the room was their harsh breathing, their hearts pounding together, John’s body plastered against Sherlock back as they came down from their highs.

"What are you thinking about, love?"

"How nice it feels, the way the world becomes smaller when it is just us, just now, just this," Sherlock breathed quietly while John pressed wet, smacking kisses against his shoulder blades and spine, causing a shiver. 

John chuckled lightheartedly, turning Sherlock around and ignoring his groaning protests in order to meet his virescent eyes, "so, despite all that planning for the scene, _this_ was all you needed tonight, just a little vanilla sex." 

"Hmm... It has long been a philosophy of mine that the little things are infinitely more important," Sherlock said, sounding more like his majesty with his usual haughty tone.

Sherlock quickly descended into giggles, however, when John began running light, wiggling fingertips up and down his sides. 

"J-John, _s-ttooppp_ ," Sherlock protested between giggles as John tickled his oversensitive body, attacking John with a few well placed jabs of his own until both of the men were breathless from laughing and genuine joy, lying in their bed and overwhelmed in love. 

"The little things, huh?" John remarked with a huff, reaching over to the side table and quickly wiping them both off, tickling Sherlock a bit more in the process and was utterly enchanted by Sherlock's high pitched and unburdened laughter.

Once their laughter had completely died out, the two men lay side by side in their bed in Baker Street, and with a little smile John looked over, meeting Sherlock's ever-changing eyes with his own. With that heavy look that passed between them, the mood shifted ever so slightly into something more serious, unspoken. 

"Yes, John, it's always the little things that matter," Sherlock breathed out, leaning forward and pressing his lips lightly against John's, kissing him gently for a moment before John buried his hand in Sherlock's curls and the two men fell back on the bed, kissing all the while. 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers, 
> 
> Thanks for reading, your comments and kudos always mean the world to me, and I cannot thank you enough for the support this fic has received. It makes me happy I finally started writing for this fandom since this has been well liked and enjoyed by so many of you, so THANKS! 
> 
> Just a few notes:
> 
> 37 C is the equivalent to 98.6 F (normal/healthy body temperature) for all of us American’s who do not understand how to read Celsius. 
> 
> Paraphrased Arthur Conan Doyle quote from the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
> 
> Coming up: John carrying Sherlock 2.0, Somonophilia and sounding.


	24. Chapter 24

He was running through a forest, a feeling of urgency beating steadily in his heart as he rushed to a destination that was a mystery.

Even to him. 

As he continued on, a light appeared at the end of the path and an unexpected calm settled over his bony shoulders as he continued forward, his long legs dashing through the underbrush and he forged ahead. A smile broke over his face and a redness rose to his cheeks from exertion and excitement of the unknown.

A new adventure- it's Christmas!

He did not know what was ahead, near the light, but it was giving him a feeling of safety, of warmth and comfort and....

Suddenly he was there, and standing where the light once shown brightly in a hazy glow was John, standing in the middle of the pathway. John, who was wearing a silly oatmeal colored jumper to cover his broad shoulders and a pair of well-worn trousers, grinning at Sherlock in his typical boyish manner and laughing at Sherlock’s bewildered expression.

"This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock? My brilliant boy, I love when I am able to trick you. And I do so love to see you.... _undone_." 

With a twinkle in his eye, he gestured down to Sherlock’s body. When Sherlock glanced down in question, he saw his pajamas and dressing gown had vanished, and that his pale and bony body was brilliantly on display in the bright sunlight. In embarrassment, he scrambled to cover himself with his hands, only to be stopped by a broad, calloused hand against his wrist, gripping tightly.

“Don’t hide from me, my love,” John whispered, and Sherlock’s confusion only mounted when between one blink and another, John disappeared.

“J-John?” Sherlock called out hesitantly, wandering forward slowly and increasingly aware of his naked form as a breeze rustled by, his self-consciousness growing despite the warming heat from the sun.

But John did not appear, and Sherlock walked on. As he strode forward, observing his surroundings in an uncharacteristically cautious manner, he felt a tingling beginning to build in his abdomen, traveling lower and lower and settling- down _there_.

Glancing down at himself once again, he could not see anything around his manhood to stimulate it- yet it still continued to fill with blood, his erection mounting and the head beginning to flush a deep pink with precum beading at the top and slipping down, down, down his cock. Synapses were firing in his mind, deductions and arousal warring for top priority as he was stimulated by an unknown force of nature.

Unable to walk any further, he leaned against a tree to support his quaking legs. Sherlock panted, throwing his head back and gripping his hair in frustrated arousal, as the sensations around his cock only grew more fervent, wet, and more, more, more. His cockhead was continuing to leak precum steadily into the now chilly air, and he felt both warm from arousal and yet unsettled. He was being pleasured in a forest, by nothing!  Where was John? John, he needs John. 

 _Oh_. He felt his balls rolling tenderly in the palm of a familiar hand and small kisses being placed up and down his shaft in a tender, teasing manner.

“It’s time to wake up now, Sherlock,” a deep voice echoed in his ear, a voice he had heard many times.

He whined in defiance and shook his head, but the teasing strokes and kisses stopped suddenly as Sherlock felt the forest melting away around him.

       

* * *

                                        

“J-John!” Sherlock gasped, his grey eyes flying open in surprise while John chuckled around the detective’s cock, taking him further into his mouth, sucking it lightly for a moment longer before pulling off with a lewd pop, a string of precum connecting the head to John’s flushed lips.

He gave Sherlock a roguish grin, a 5 o’clock shadow resting upon his cheek as a peered up at the panting detective.

It was a dream. Obvious. Annoyingly unexceptional. And yet, anytime he was intimate with John, the sensations felt anything but ordinary.

“J-John, please, would you- _Ah!_ ” Sherlock gasped as John swallowed him whole, suckling around his cock and keeping it warm in his mouth, saliva pooling on his tongue as a ran it up and down Sherlock’s- now drenched- manhood. Sherlock gripped at the sheets, a whine building in his throat as John winked up at him with his lips wrapped around Sherlock's curving erection. 

John kept up his- _wet, hot, oh god_ -torture for a while longer, sucking slowly, achingly slowly, as they savored the morning in bed. John’s stubble scrapped against Sherlock’s balls rhythmically once, twice, and that was it.

Sherlock came, panting “John” as he spilled down his lover’s throat. John sucked him through it, gentling his pressure until he was merely holding Sherlock’s softening sock in his mouth. He finally pulled away with a lewd pop and sat up, wiping at his face and chin with a rougish grin and appearing ten years younger- the look of satisfaction and hunger on his face in even turns.

He manhandled Sherlock on his side, spooning him from behind and settling light, teasing kisses on the back of Sherlock’s neck as he rocked his erection through Sherlock’s ample arse slowly. Sherlock gave a happy little “mmmhh” sigh and snuggled deeper into John’s embrace, flexing his gluteus muscles and listening to John groan with a little smirk on his flushed face.

He is always baffled by the fact that he once thought himself below this primitive form of human connection- the act itself would be nothing if it were not for John’s loving care and playful teasing. Just looking at the unassuming Doctor could put Sherlock in a tizzy of arousal and love so deep that even his mind-palace could not distract him.

Sherlock felt John spill against his cheeks with a grunt, a dollop landing on his arsehole and causing a quivering sensation to course through his spine.

Sherlock watched as John, ever the caretaker, got out of bed the fetch a wet cloth and wipe Sherlock down. John gently rubbed the cool cloth over Sherlock’s saliva coated manhood and then his backside- focusing a bit long on cleaning his arsehole and causing Sherlock’s spent erection to make a valiant second attempt at rising.

John was pushing lightly against the tender muscle, until the small hole finally gave way and he was able to push the bristly cloth slightly inside, reveling in Sherlock's pleasured gasp " _oh"_ at the friction as he pushed his index finger, wrapped in the cloth, fully inside and carefully pulled his finger out, leaving the cloth peaking obscenely between Sherlock's plush arsecheeks.

John began to slowly pull the cloth out, and then push it back in, listening to Sherlock's aroused grumblings and pushing the detective's hands away when he attempted to pull the cloth out himself. 

“John,” Sherlock whined after a minute of this, still embarrassing, treatment of his arse, and John finally pulled the cloth away with a chuckle and two bristly kisses placed reverently on Sherlock’s arse cheeks as he pulled the cloth out of Sherlock's, now clean, arse. 

“Can you blame me, love? Your arse is endlessly lovely, I could worship it for hours, “ John drawled, pulling Sherlock back into the curve of his arms and holding the lean man tightly, trailing a calloused hand down to grasp lightly at Sherlock’s arse (that, for once, was not stained pink or red) and gave it a small slap, ignoring Sherlock’s indignant “humph.”

“In fact, later on, I just might,” he whispered into Sherlock ear, biting gently on the lobe. Sherlock felt John’s smug smile of satisfaction when the detective shivered at his threat.

Or is it a promise?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone who is reading this! I know it's been a while since I posted, but needs must. 
> 
> Your comments give me inspiration to keep going! Thank you all so much for your support of this (filthy, depraved, yet somehow still fluffy) story of mine. Feel free to make suggestions of what you want to see, and I will take them under advisement. Also, self-care is important, so take care of yourselves! 
> 
> All the best,
> 
> DPS


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